


Tales of the Inquisition

by SorchaCahill



Series: The Adventures of Young Trevelyan [4]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Avvar lore, Drama & Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Inktober for Writers, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Sexual Content, alcohol mention, chapter 9 Outbreak AU, family ties, slightly AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-08 01:57:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 30,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12244842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SorchaCahill/pseuds/SorchaCahill
Summary: Whelp. Here we go. Trying the Inktober for Writers challenge. Most are going to be from my as yet unwritten full story of my Inquisitor Bríghid Trevelyan but depending on how the winds blow I might focus on others. Enjoy!





	1. Day 1 - Searching

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place just after the attack on Haven.

Wind and snow howled through the Frostbacks, obscuring the entire area around the tiny camp the remnants of the Inquisition had managed to make before the storm had descended upon them like a fury. A little over a hundred people had made it out of Haven, ten of whom they’d lost on the trek to the tiny valley in which they took shelter. By the Maker’s grace most were able to walk but there were some that wouldn’t make the journey to safety.

If such a place existed. After all that had happened Cullen wasn’t sure that it did.

Haven had been attacked by a superior force and it was now in ashes. Or he assumed it was, they’d been forced to flee before the attack was finished. Who could fight against such an enemy? The templars, they hadn’t been human anymore, fought with a ferocity he had only seen in darkspawn. The red lyrium had twisted them into horrors and he was sure that his nightmares would soon be filled with them.

If he was honest with himself however, despite how horrifying the loss of Haven was, it was one person whose loss he felt most keenly. The Herald, Bríghid Trevelyan, had stayed behind. Stayed to fight the demon dragon and the creature that commanded it. He had wanted to stay but she had insisted that he help with the evacuation, that she would hold off the dragon and the creature to give them time to escape.

He should have insisted that he be allowed to stay. He should have demanded that she come with them.

He should have kissed her.

His life had been one filled with regret but out of all of his regrets, not kissing Bríghid Trevelyan ranked the highest. Since she had stumbled out of the rubble of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, they had engaged in a cautious flirtation. He couldn’t deny that he was attracted to her but with his history he hesitated on acting on it. She had seemed hesitant as well; asking awkward questions and giving him questioning looks from across the training grounds. It seemed that both of them were a little wary of forming any relationship.

The question of what could have been kept him awake at night and it was what pushed him to keep searching for her despite all evidence pointing to the fact that she was probably dead.

He did not want to believe it. He _refused_ to believe it. The number of arguments he’d had with the others over the matter grew in length as each day passed without her arrival. Not that it stopped him from sending out search parties looking for her or from him leading a majority of them. Cassandra had accused him of taking on more than he should and he accused her of giving up too easily. It had taken Leliana stepping inbetween the two of them before it came to blows.

That had been an hour ago. He now stood on the edge of the camp, searching into the darkness, praying to the Maker and his bride for some sign that the Herald was alive.

He heard the crunch of boots in snow behind him but refused to turn and take his gaze from the barren landscape. He knew who it was regardless. Cassandra came up to stand next to him, her posture mirroring his.

“I apologize for my words from earlier, Commander. So much time has passed since the attack that I fear that I’m beginning to succumb to despair. I wish more than anything for the Herald’s safe return. Our cause is lost without her.”

“You still mean to use her as a figurehead? She deserves more than that.”

“That’s not what I-.” Cassandra sighed. “I did not come out here to argue with you more.”

“Then why did you?”

“Guilt I suppose. I left her behind. She was my responsibility.”

“Mine too,” he murmured, not sure what to do with the rush of emotions flooding him. Flashes of memory went through his brain. The soft curve of her lips when she smiled; the slope of her neck when she bent over the war table, scrutinizing the map; the way her eyes narrowed when Chancellor Roderick tried to get her arrested; the look of sheer joy when she had rode into Haven with Master Dennet’s horses.

“I can’t give up, Cassandra, not while there’s still a chance.”

“I know Cullen, I know.”

Moments passed in silence as they stood there, watching the surrounding area. He pulled his mantle closer around him and maintained his vigil.

It was very subtle. A flicker of shadow within the snowy night. He stiffened, straining his eyes and looking deeper into the darkness. There, a sound that wasn’t from nature, a jingle of bells perhaps? He took a couple of steps forward, trying to decide if he was just imagining things and not just wishful thinking.

It was the whinny of a horse that convinced him otherwise.

Cullen ran forward, ignoring Cassandra’s shout of alarm. A shadow was forming ahead of him, one that solidified into the shape of a horse. As he grew closer he saw a body clinging the the animal’s back. In the torchlight that followed him he recognized the paint the Avvar used on their horses and dared himself to hope. The horse stopped when he was about ten feet away and the body fell off an into the snow.

He fell to his knees, sliding the last foot or so before he reached the body. He recognized the bright flame of hair even before he turned the body over. Bríghid’s eyes were closed and her skin was tinged blue from the cold. He whipped off his mantle and wrapped her in it before lifting her up in his arms. Her cold breath ghosted against his neck as he started walking back toward camp. The horse followed close behind, a silent sentinel that refused to leave his mistress’s side.

Cullen pulled her closer, giving into the temptation to breath in her scent.

“Stay with me, Bríghid. Stay with me.”


	2. Day 2 - Barefoot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ties in with Unbridled Spirit, one of the stories in the Adventures of Young Trevelyan. I recommend reading it before this one as it does reference some events that happened in it.

Bríghid stood at the edge of Cloudcap Lake, staring across the edges of the Frostback Basin to the world that lay beyond. That way lay a world she had left behind and wasn’t sad to see the back of it. She’d die happy if she never have to go back. Fate, however, seemed to have other ideas.

The cool water tickled her bare toes as it lapped the shore. Her mother would go apocalyptic if she saw her daughter running around barefoot like a heathen, which was part of the reason why she enjoyed it so much. Her father would probably be indifferent which was worse somehow. She hated the world she came from. It had tried to force a life she didn’t want on her despite her protests. This escape into the Frostbacks was her final attempt at escaping what that fate wanted for her.

And now she learned that she was destined for a different fate. Why couldn’t fate just leave her alone?

“You’ve been out here quite a while, little lowlander.”

Bríghid didn’t turn away from the water as Baldr, Thane of clan Light-Foot approached her from behind. He joined her at the lakeshore and stared out across it. It was anyone’s guess as to what he saw out there. They stood there quietly, not saying anything. Baldr was nothing if not a patient man. He knew that she would speak when she was ready.

“Is it possible that Gróa is wrong?” she asked, referring to the clan’s shaman.

“Anything is possible but she’s seen this in the flames long since before you were born. And before you ask, no I will not tell you more than she already has. It is not the way.”

“But if I knew more perhaps I would know what to do. I dislike being kept in the dark like this. Vague clues are less than helpful.”

“It is not the way,” he said again, his tone indicating that was all that was to be said on the matter and as Thane his word was pretty much law.

Bríghid sighed. She reached up at ran her fingers on the still healing scar that ran down her right cheek. She’d been lucky she hadn’t been blinded when her head had struck that rock. Shit, she’d been lucky that her brains hadn’t spilled out over the ground. Gróa had said that it was Korth’s way of marking her as one of his own. Bríghid wished that the Mountain Father had chosen a less painful way to mark her. As she had learned over the last five years, that it wasn’t the Avvar way to take the easy path. But then she wasn’t Avvar, so did that really apply to her?

“As much as we are happy to you have to here, this is not where you belong.”

“It would seem that I don’t belong anywhere.”

“You will find your place, little lowlander, I don’t need to know what the flames and spirits say to know that.”

“You know, I’m not so little anymore, Baldr.”

The Avvar chuckled and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Perhaps not, but I’ll always remember the fire-touched girl who dared to touch the clan holdbeast. Not many would have the courage to do so, much less a mere child. That Vidar allowed you to do so is a gift.”

“One that I shall always cherish,” she paused, turning her gaze back to the water. “I miss him.”

“As do we all. Vidar was honorable and loyal. No one could ask more of a holdbeast. He sired many offspring, I have no doubt that he passed his will and fire down to his sons and daughters.”

“He was too stubborn to have any other outcome.”

Baldr laughed again before pulling her into his side. Bríghid leaned into him and inhaled deeply, wanting to commit his scent to memory. Here was a man who accepted her at face value and for who she was. He didn’t make any demands upon her that went against the core of who she was. Bladr, Thane of the Light-foot had been more of a father to her than the one she was given by blood.

“I’m going to miss this place. Miss the hold, miss the family and friends I’ve made here.”

Baldr turned, gripping her by the shoulders and looking at her intently. “You will always have a place here with us Bríghid of the Trevelyans. Even though you must leave, you will always be a part of this clan. Never doubt that.”

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes and she tried to hold them back even as she rushed into his arms, holding him fiercely. Despite the freedom she’d found among the clan to be more open with her emotions, there were certain aspects of her upbringing that stubbornly clung to her. Baldr hugged her back, pressing his lips to the top of her head.

“Come, put your boots on, we have a feast waiting for us.”

 


	3. Day 3 - Warmth

Bríghid stood on the ramparts overlooking the valley below Skyhold. She could see the ever-growing camp spread out beneath the castle, tiny figures moving inbetween the tents. Skyhold itself was a hive of activity. Repairs were well underway to fix the gaping holes in the walls and the great hall, including the tower that Josephine insisted upon for her to take as her quarters. Part of her hated the idea of being so isolated from everyone, she already felt enough of a freak as it was, did they need to ensure she wasn’t accessible by putting her literally in a tower? She much preferred the little cottage she’d had back in Haven. And yet at the same time she knew she would relish the chance to get away from it all, to have some time to herself. With so many people making so many demands she felt like she had no time to just be herself, to just be Bríghid.

A loud cracking sound exploded in the air and she felt the stones under her feet tremble. Shouts erupted from behind her as she darted to the side overlooking the courtyard to see that one of the scaffolds had collapsed. Soldiers swarmed around what was left of the building, shouting to each other as they moved to clear the fallen beams. She clutched the stone wall in front of her and watched as they worked. A familiar blonde-haired figure pitched in, barking orders and calling for a healer to take care of the injured. Minutes passed as she watched, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. Part of her wanted to rush down and help but she knew that she would be more of a hindrance at this point than help.

Something like warmth curled in her stomach as she watched Cullen work. He had removed his ever-present fur mantle to assist in the efforts, the same fur mantle she remembered waking up in after they had found her half dead in the snow.

Cheers rang out throughout the courtyard as they uncovered the two workers, both amazingly alive though covered in dirt, mud, and more than a little blood. Once the healers moved in she found her attention shifting to Cullen.

She didn’t like this attraction she felt toward him. She didn’t like how he made her feel with just a look or a laugh. She didn’t like any of it but she seemed unable to stop it. What she liked the least was having Grόa’s words swirling in her head. While the shaman had been thin on the details of what her future and fate entailed, she’d been pretty clear that a lion was in it. Bríghid had initially put it off as nonsense compared to everything else that had been said, but when she had first seen him on the field that day she’d woken up with her hand glowing she’d been forced to swallow her shock. He had come out of the smoke, fur mantle wrapped around him, the front plate of his lion helm covering his face. She’d been struck dumb and speechless which had probably not made the best of first impressions. So much had happened that day that it was mostly a blur but that one single moment was burned into her brain.

Since then she had tiptoed around him, making awkward conversation, asking what she had thought at the time were innocent questions about his background. It wasn’t until later that she realized that he probably thought she was flirting with him and was digging into his past in order to get closer to him. He’d looked at her differently after that, asking awkward questions of his own. It had taken her a while to realize that he was, possibly, flirting with her. She should have picked up on it sooner but then she was pretty bad at this kind of thing. Even when Frey, bold bastard that he was, had tried courting her in the Avvar way, she been clueless. Or nearly so until he had openly declared his intention to woo her in front of the entire clan.

She’d called him an idiot and said the only way she’d let him woo her was if he could beat her on an archery run. He’d lost and she’d probably made the best friend she’d ever had. One she’d had to leave behind.

Pushing back the wave of melancholy Bríghid looked down into the courtyard and found Cullen watching her with those dark whiskey eyes of his. She felt something flip in her stomach, that warm feeling spreading throughout her as they continued staring at each other. It wasn’t until one of his men called his attention that their gaze broke and she was able to breath again.

Maker help her, she was in trouble.


	4. Day 4 - Compliment

“I don’t understand. Why are they sending all this stuff?”

“It’s tradition among the some of the nobility to send gifts in order to gain favor,” Josephine told her.

“I’m considered a heretic by half of Thedas and the other half are embarrassed and shamed by my ‘abduction’ by the Avvar. I fail to see why they would want to gain my favor.”

“Inquisitor, despite what they may think of you personally, many understand that the Inquisition is becoming a force to be reckoned with. I have no doubt a good portion of them are hedging their bets and sending the same favors to other organizations. In fact I would be slightly disappointed if they weren’t.”

“That seems rather disingenuous to me.”

“That’s how the Game is played in Orlais, as well as many other countries and city-states in the Free Marches, but mostly Orlais. Is it not the same in Ostwick?”

“I suppose. I tried to stay out of it as much as possible. And with the trouble I caused my family they were only too willing to keep me out of view. Hence them trying to commit me to the Chantry.”

Bríghid sighed and looked at the latest ‘favor’ sent to her by some marquess from somewhere in Orlais. It was a sculpture of some kind, of some _ thing _ but for the life of her Bríghid couldn’t tell what it was. Perhaps she just didn’t understand art.

“Josephine, what  _ is _ this?”

When Josephine didn’t answer, Bríghid looked over to her. The look of consternation on her normally unflappable diplomatic advisor was enough to make her smile.

“The marquess, well, she fancies herself as something of an artist. If I were to hazard a guess, this is supposed to be you. I’m sure she believes that she’s giving you a great compliment by giving you one of her pieces.”

“This is supposed to be me? It looks like something that came out of the ass-end of a druffalo,” she paused as a horrified thought sprang up. “We aren’t expected to put this thing on display, are we? Please say no. This thing is hideous. One would think that the marquess had never seen another human in her life. And just how is this supposed to gain my favor?”

“She takes a rather,  _ unorthodoxed _ approach to her art, this is true. She takes what one could say is certain artistic liberties.”

“Artistic liberties? If I wore armor like that into battle my heart would burst at the first hard blow to my chest. I’d be better off naked than wearing something like this.”

“It is fortunate then that she is a sculptor and not an armorer.” Josephine cocked her head, a questioning look on her face. “Don’t the Avvar go into battle wearing mud and paint on their chest?”

“That’s a myth. They do wear armor, over the important bits anyway. The paint and mud is more an intimidation tactic. It also depends on the season. They wear furs over their armor to help keep the cold away.”

Josephine frowned. “That seems rather cumbersome.”

“Not as much as you would think, if you know how to work with the armor as opposed to forcing it to do something it wasn’t designed to do.” A devilish thought came to mind. “I could put on a demonstration. I’m sure the soldiers would find it educational.”

“Among other things,” Josephine murmured, probably thinking about the uproar such a display would cause among the visiting nobles. Her eyes roved over the great hall and the mishmash of styles that Bríghid had selected to decorate it. “I don’t suppose you would consider-.”

“No, Josephine, I won’t have you change the drapery, the furnishings, the heraldry or anything else so that it all coordinates. The Inquisition is supposed to represent all of Thedas, not just the supposed elite. If you wanted everything to compliment each other you shouldn’t have let me pick the decor.” That said, she turned back to the sculpture again. “I don’t suppose we could put it in some out of the way place. Just how important is it that we gain the marquess’ approval?”

“She is a minor noble of a lesser house. I could arrange it so-.”

“No. No conveniently misplaced gloves or whatever else it is you do that is positively terrifying. Just… just find a place where I don’t have to look at it every day.”

Josephine smiled. “As you wish, Inquisitor.”


	5. Day 5 - Fallen

“Inquisitor?”

Bríghid looked up from the map of southern Thedas she’d been studying to see Iron Bull’s lieutenant Krem standing before her. She rubbed her eyes, exhaustion washing over her. Ever since Adamant she’d felt this creeping feeling of dread. She’d let Warden Stroud convince her that he was the one who had to stay behind. Éowyn Hawke had argued just as hard but Bríghid knew that besides being the Champion of Kirkwall she was also a wife and mother and she couldn’t in good conscience allow her to stay behind. The older woman hadn’t said a word to her on the way back to Skyhold but Varric’s relieved and nervous chatter filled up any silence left between the two women.

“Krem? You’re back. Did you find anything?”

The former Tevinter soldier and current second-in-command of Bull’s Chargers opened his mouth to speak but lost the words of whatever he was going to stay. Instead he simply handed her the scroll he was holding. Bríghid took it from him and scanned its contents. Her stomach clenched and nausea swelled through her as she tried to take it all in. When she was finished she looked at Krem. He looked as ill as she felt.

“Is this accurate?” she asked softly.

“Yes, Inquisitor, I’m afraid so.” He cleared his throat. “I know that things of this nature are normally brought to the whole council but I thought that it was important for you to see it first,” he paused, the tightness around his eyes growing. “And I’m sure that the Commander would appreciate receiving this news in private.”

“Yes, he will. Thank you, Krem. I’ll take care of this.”

“Yes, Inquisitor,” he said before turning to leave, not quite giving her a salute, but not _not_ doing it either. He left the war room as quietly as he had entered, leaving Bríghid staring at the scroll wondering just how the hell she was going to tell Cullen that the templar hold at Therinfal Redoubt was gone.

~~~

Bríghid stood just outside Cullen’s office, holding the scroll so tightly that she feared she might rip it but she couldn’t seem to relax her hands. She didn’t know how he was going to respond, she _had_ chosen the mages over the templars despite his fervent objections after all. He’d been so angry. Despite everything the Order had done to him, was _still_ doing to him because of the lyrium addiction, he still saw the templars as family. He wasn’t going to thank her for bringing this news.

Part of her wouldn’t blame him if he ended what was happening between them.

Taking a deep breath she pushed open the door. Cullen was standing behind his desk, shuffling through a mountain of paperwork. His hair was mussed, as if he had run his fingers through it in frustration. She saw the tension in his stance and wondered when he had last taken a break. Probably not since he crawled out of bed before dawn, and the sun was now close to setting.

“In or out. I don’t have time for dawdlers,” he growled without looking up from the papers. If she were a fresh recruit she probably would have peed a little at the tone of his voice, as it was it just made her stomach boil even more.

“Cullen,” she said softly.

His head snapped up, eyes softening at the sight of her. He smiled at her and she gripped the parchment even tighter.

“I was hoping to see you today,” he said as he straightened up, a smile brightening his face. She loved it when he looked at her like that, and here she was, about to make it disappear, possibly forever. Bríghid returned his smile quietly as she shut the door behind her. Maker’s balls, she’d rather fight the Nightmare again give him this news.

He was halfway to her when he saw the somber look on her face. He hesitated briefly, seeing the parchment she held in her hands.

“What is it?” he asked, pulling his commander guise down over him.

“The Chargers are back. Krem came to see me.”

The smile he wore fell completely from his face and he went still. Bríghid watched him with something close to despair. She’d just gotten used to the idea of having the lion in her life and she feared that she was about to kill it.

“And?”

“I’m sorry Cullen, but Therinfal Redoubt has fallen. There were no survivors.”

Cullen didn’t say anything but she watched as his hands clenched into fists and felt her heart break. She would have spared him this pain if she could.

“How?” The single word came out of him in a growl. Bríghid looked down at the parchment in her hand, hesitating briefly before she gave it to him.

“In the report Krem said there were signs of demon activity and that the fortress is covered with red lyrium. They-.”

Cullen swore viciously, walking away from her as she was speaking. At a loss of what to say Bríghid took a heavy breath. He would want to be alone now. He wouldn’t want to see her, she who essentially doomed the templars to this fate.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered and turned to the door. A shaky breath left her lungs as she reached for the handle. She wouldn’t make this about her but she hoped that he could forgive her.

“Where are you going?”

She half turned back to him, her brows furrowing. “I thought, well, I thought that you would rather be alone.”

“For once, I think being alone is the last thing I need,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked at her, his whiskey-colored eyes wet with unshed tears. Bríghid chewed on her lower lip, her fingers twisting in knots around each other. “The templar order is flawed, in many ways, but they were a big part of my life for a long time,” he paused as he came up to her, taking her hands in his. “Their loss is painful, I won’t lie about that, but that being said, that part of my life is over now. My loyalty belongs to the Inquisition now. And to you.”

He kissed her then, his lips warm against her. Bríghid leaned into him, accepting what he was willing to give. Some of the tension leaked out of her as he broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers.

“I hate that this caused you pain. I hate that it’s my fault.”

Cullen pulled back, surprise flickering across his face before being replaced by a combination of annoyance and frustration.

“Bríghid,” he said, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “What happened to the templars, to Therinfal, that was not your fault.”

“But if I had chosen to have the templars help seal the rift-.”

“You can’t know what would have happened. If you had chosen the templars, Corypheus could have a mage army at his fingertips. We just don’t know. It was a no-win situation, Bríghid. You did the best you could.”

He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. Bríghid burrowed into him, inhaling his scent. She still couldn’t believe that he didn’t blame her for the fall of the templars but she’d take it. However hesitant in the beginning she’d been regarding her feelings toward him she knew now that she’d fallen for him hard and she wouldn’t be able to shake it. Even more, she didn’t want to.


	6. Day 6 - Water

Bríghid stood waist deep in the warm water, swirling the water around her between her fingers. She’d found the small hot spring in the bowels of Skyhold not long after they had arrived and had selfishly kept her discovery to herself. There was so little that was really hers anymore that this tiny oasis was pretty much the only thing that was keeping her sane. She been perusing the ancient and dusty books in the tiny cobwebbed filled nook on one of the castle’s lower levels when she’d accidentally bumped into a wall sconce after she had overreached to a higher shelf and had to dodge to avoid the fall of heavy books on her head. The sconce was cocked to the side and when she had touched it to try to put it back in place, something clicked in the wall and it swung silently inward. She’d waited maybe five seconds before taking her torch and entering the narrow passage.

After about fifteen minutes of walking the passage had opened up into a wide cavern. She had no idea where under the castle she was but wherever it was it allowed several wide openings in where moonlight spilled in. Whatever magic kept Skyhold at a temperate climate despite the wintery landscape that surrounded them extended down here, creating a little haven away from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the castle.

It was the perfect place for her to escape to. It somewhat reminded her of the hot springs Frey and his sister Astrid had shown her all those years ago, and while it didn’t have the scents and sounds of the Frostback Basin it more than suited her needs.

She snuck down here as much as she could while she was in Skyhold. Having just returned from a grueling trek through the Hissing Wastes a long soak was exactly what she needed. It was well after midnight when she had snuck out of her tower. People still milled about the grand hall at this hour but few questioned her movements as she went through the door toward the war room. If anyone had seen her they would probably think that she was working, a notion she wasn’t going to disabuse anyone of. Besides, she could move unseen if she really didn’t want anyone to know where she was going.

Bríghid took a deep breath before sinking below the water. She let herself float just under the surface, watching her hair undulate around her like silk blowing in the wind. When she could no longer hold her breath she surfaced and lay back in the water, staring at the stone ceiling briefly before closing her eyes. It was so peaceful down here that a part of her wished that she could stay here forever and forget all her responsibilities.

“So this is where you run off to in the middle of the night.”

Bríghid yelped in surprise, startled out of her peaceful float and sank under the water. She swallowed a mouthful of water as she flailed before she was able to get her feet under her, coughing as she surfaced, swearing viciously. Annoyed, she pushed her hair out of her face to see Cullen sitting cross-legged on the edge of the pool, stripped down to just his breeches and a loose shirt. How in the hell had she not heard him approach? Struck dumb by his lack of armor, she gave him her best glare. He smiled at her boyishly, a mischievous glint in his eyes that she didn’t trust. 

“How did you find me?” she demanded. Feeling oddly vulnerable, she kept herself submerged up to her neck. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen her naked before but this somehow felt different.

“I needed to speak to you so I came to your quarters. You can imagine my surprise when I didn’t find you there. I distinctly remember you saying earlier that you were exhausted and wanted to sleep.” He glanced around, taking in the space. When he returned his gaze to her, his eyes still had that mischievous look but with the addition of something else that put her on edge. 

“So despite my saying I was exhausted you thought it was okay to disturb me? Lovely. And you didn’t answer my question.”

Cullen rolled his shoulders, as if he was trying to loosen the muscles there. He reached up and loosened the ties at the neck of his shirt before pulling it over his head. Bríghid’s eyes widened as all that taut muscle and flesh was revealed as he tossed the garment to the side. She involuntarily moved back half a foot. What was wrong with her? This was  _ Cullen _ . She’d never felt this unnerved in his presence. Well, that was a lie. She had been before they were together but that was different. Then he’d never quite looked at her in the predatory manner he was now.

“You do know that I can see you, all of you, through the water, right? It’s remarkably clear.”

Bríghid growled but refused to shrink back further than she already was. He was in a rare mood and she wasn’t sure what to expect from him. She watched him warily as he stood up.

“It’s not safe, you know, even here in the keep for you to go sneaking off. And swimming alone. Most unsafe.”

“It was Cole, wasn’t it? He told you.” She didn’t even bother cursing. What was the point? The boy, spirit, pretty much went wherever he wanted though he was eager to help. He probably thought helping Cullen find her was the right thing to do. He just wanted to help afterall. It was just his nature.

“Do you mind?”

Bríghid blinked, jolted out of her thoughts. “Mind what?”

“If I joined you. The water looks quite inviting,” he paused, a sudden unsureness coming over him. “If you’d rather-.”

“No, it’s okay. Some company might be nice,” she said, a smile growing on her lips as she stood up. Water dripped off her skin, the moonlight painting her body. Cullen’s breath hitched even as he toed off his boots and shucked off his breeches. His eyes never left hers as he stepped into the pool and waded over to her. He leaned down to kiss her but she placed her fingers over his mouth and stopped him.

“I do have  _ one _ condition,” she said, stepping into his arms, leaning forward so she could inhale his scent. As she pressed her bare body against his she felt his cock twitch in response. He set his hands on her hips, his thumbs brushing over the sensitive skin there, sending a small shiver through her body.

“Anything.”

“Don’t tell anyone about this place. I come here to escape, for just a little while, to regroup.”

“If anyone needs such a place, it’s you. If you’d rather keep it for yourself, I understand.”

“No. I don’t mind sharing this with you.” She cupped his face in her hands and pushed up on her toes to kiss him. “In fact, I think I insist.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took some liberties with Skyhold's architecture. But come on, you have to admit, having a hot spring there would be AMAZING.


	7. Day 7 - Confusion

“Why? Why did you, no, I have a better question, _how_ could you do something like this? Help me to understand.”

“There is no excuse for what I did Inquisitor. I was, and still am a coward. There’s no excuse that I could give that could. You should have let me die. It’s no better that what I deserve.”

“Perhaps I should have,” Bríghid sighed. Blackwall, no _Thom Rainier_ had put her in an impossible position. He had made promises to the Inquisition, to her, but what was the worth of those promises now? By his actions, or inaction depending on your point of view, he had harmed the integrity and mission of the Inquisition. She couldn’t let that happen.

She straightened herself, stiffening her spine. She hated this throne, it was so uncomfortable, but she supposed that it should be. A seat of power should never be comfortable.

“For years you’ve impersonated a Grey Warden, using that position to hide from your crimes. Most of Thedas considers the Grey Wardens heroes. What you did dishonors their order and their purpose,” she said, forcing herself to keep her voice hard. She hated sitting in judgement, that she was now judging a faithful companion made it even worse. “But, I know that by doing what you did you were attempting to atone for your crimes. In my personal opinion, if you’d had any sense of honor at the time you would have turned yourself in then. No true leader would let the people under their command pay for their crimes.”

Blackwall hung his head at her words. They were harsh, she knew, but they needed to be said. It had been a risk using Inquisition resources to remove him from Orlais but she couldn’t allow an outside entity to judge one of their own. At the same time she couldn’t allow such deceit to be simply swept away.

“Blackwall, as you insist on still being called, I sentence you to turn yourself over to the Grey Wardens in Weisshaupt, _after_ you, how did you put it? Yes, save the fucking world.” Bríghid ignored the hiss of disapproval from Josephine at her language. At this moment, her language was the least of her concerns. “You will keep the promise you made to me and the Inquisition. For now, you will report to the blacksmith. I’m sure that she will find something to keep you occupied.”

She waved her hands to the guards who came forward and released his manacles. Bríghid stared down at the scene, trying to keep her face as impassive as possible even though she felt like screaming.

“Is there anything else, Josephine?”

“No, Inquisitor. We are done for today.”

Without saying a word, Bríghid stood up and left the main hall. She found that she couldn’t stand staying another there another minute.

~~~

Later that night she stood on her balcony looking out toward the mountains, turning her back on the courtyard below. She found that she couldn’t stand to look down upon the people she was responsible for and that burned her. Never had she wished more that she had never taken on the role of Inquisitor.

Not that Thedas had given her much of a choice.

She heard the door to her apartments open and close behind her. The sun had just set behind the mountains and she couldn’t help but wonder if the sun was soon going to set on the Inquisition.

Firm hands gently cupped her shoulders; a pair of lips kissed the side of her neck. Bríghid sighed a leaned back into Cullen’s embrace. At least with this she was sure where she stood.

“I heard what happened. That couldn’t have been easy.”

“No, it wasn’t,” she said. Bríghid closed her eyes and let out another sigh. “Did I do the right thing, Cullen? Perhaps it would have been better if I had ordered him executed. He wanted death after all. If this had been an Avvar hold he would have found his death.

“I spent five years with the Avvar, Cullen. Five years. It was confusing at first, being thrust into such a different culture than my own but I found a place among them. They taught me more about life than any of the tutors I had in Ostwick. Harsh perhaps but fair.”

“Do you really think you could have done it? Have him killed?”

Bríghid opened her eyes to see the last of the day’s light disappear and the night’s sky take over. The night looked cold, still and cold. She suppressed a shudder as she tried to find a sense of calm.

“Yes. I could have, and I’m sure there were many in the great hall who expected me to, which is part of the reason why I didn’t. There’s still a good portion of the people who see me as tainted because of my time with the Avvar and expect me to act like a barbarian. They had no problem with me executing Livius Erimond because of what he did to the wardens and his collusion with Corypheus. I suspect they wouldn’t have been as kind if I had done the same with Blackwall.”

She felt Cullen stiffen behind her. He didn’t pull away from her but she wouldn’t have blamed him if he did. The part of her that was forced to make those cold calculations made her sick and she worried how others, how Cullen perceived her when she made them.

“There are no easy decisions in war, Bríghid, but from what I’ve seen you’ve done amazing things in the face of all this adversity,” he said. “We’ve all had to make hard decisions, impossible decisions, decisions that will haunt us for the rest of our lives, but together we can face it together.”

Bríghid turned in his arms, facing him. She stared at his breastplate for a moment before looking up at him. He looked at her with an adoration she wasn’t sure that she wholly deserved.

As if guessing her thoughts Cullen placed his finger under her chin and tilted her head up before bringing his lips down on hers. Bríghid leaned into him, savoring his tenderness. She hadn’t expected tenderness from him, not in the beginning anyway. He’d been so gruff and stiff and dedicated to his job that the first time she’d heard him laugh she’d stumbled. It’d been the first step in her falling in love with him.

Gripping his breastplate, she pushed him back into the room pulling at the latches and buckles, leaving a trail of armor from the balcony to her bed. Just as eager, Cullen shed her clothes, dropping them so they intermingled with his armor. They felt onto the bed, mouths and hands linked. Bríghid arched into him when he nipped at her neck before moving down her body. His tongue swirled around her nipple while his hand delved between her legs. Bríghid cried out and dug her hands into his hair and held him close as they moved together.

He entered her smoothly, heat pulsing from him into her. She clenched around him, gathering him into herself. Together they climbed, flying until stars burst. His name burst from her lips as she peaked, wrapping her limbs around him tightly as she rode out her orgasm with him quickly finding release after her. For long moments they lay there after, breaths mingling as their heartbeats slowed.

“I love you,” he said, lifting his head and kissing her sweetly.

Bríghid smiled up at him, trailing her fingers down his face before kiss him back. “I love you too.”


	8. Day 8 - Impasse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place well before the beginning of Inquisition and right before Bríghid's time with the Avvar.

“You cannot be serious. I will not do it.”

“You will do it, Bríghid Trevelyan, and you’ll do it because it is your duty.”

“Duty? You speak of duty, Father? This is not duty. This is slavery.”

Bríghid tried to control her temper but what her father was ordering her to do was making it nearly impossible.

“Oh Bríghid, please, don’t be so melodramatic. You'll be marrying into the one of the more powerful merchant families in Antiva. You should consider yourself lucky that the Campana’s are willing to consider such a match. Be reasonable.”

“Reasonable? _Reasonable?!_ You do know how Antivan society treats women, don’t you Mother? I’d be nothing more than an ornament for them. Someone to produce heirs and look pretty. I’ll have no freedom. No, I won’t do it. I won’t be your bargaining chip for more power.”

“ _You_ are a third daughter. You’re lucky that you don’t get sent to the Chantry as most third daughters and sons do.” Her mother’s voice was sharp, gone was the placating tone, replaced by the grating one that Bríghid was more accustomed to.  

Bríghid stood before her parents, fists tightened into balls. She shouldn’t be surprised by this, not really. Ever since she turned sixteen her parents had been looking for a way to offload her. They already had their heir and the spare, what good was she but to try to increase their standing. Maker’s balls she hated being a part of this family.

“I will not do it. Try to force me and-.”

“And what? You have no marketable skills, Bríghid.”

“No, because I wasn’t raised to have any. You saw to that, Mother.”

Eleanor Trevelyan lifted her head, filling herself with every bit of arrogant nobility she had. “I raised you to be a wife and mother, but apparently you think you’re too good for that.”

“Not when it’s not my choice! If I ever do marry it will be my decision, not yours.”

“As long as you live under my house, young lady, your decisions are irrelevant,” said Bann Trevelyan, his face red as he tried to control his own temper.

Bríghid stared at her parents. Who were these people? How could the Maker see fit to place her with such people?

“Then perhaps I won’t live under your roof anymore.”

“Oh, Bríghid, don’t be ridiculous. Where on Thedas do you think you could possibly go? It's time that you grow up and accept your responsibilities.” Bríghid took a long look at her parents before turning and walking out of the room.

“Where do you think you’re going? We’re not finished here.”

Bríghid paused at the doorway, hand on the frame. Without turning around, she said, “Isn’t it obvious? We’re not going to agree on anything, so I’m leaving.”

She hurried down the hall before they could stop her and took the stairs two steps at a time. A most undignified affair her mother would think, but Bríghid was done with worrying about what her mother thought. She was done with this family.

“Bríghid? What’s got you going in such a hurry?”

Bríghid stopped in mid-stride, brought up short by her brother’s voice. Perhaps there was one person she would miss.

“I’m sorry Gideon, but I can’t do this anymore.”

“They told you about the betrothal arrangements, did they?”

“What do you think?” she paused, wary. While Gideon had always been in her corner he was still a loyal son. Would he stop her? “Are you going to stop me?”

She stared at him, silently pleading with him to not to stop her.

“Do you know where you’re going to go?”

Relief flooded through her as she flung her arms around him, hugging him tightly, knowing that this was probably the last time she would be able to do this. She had no intention of returning. Ever.

“Here. Take this, I had a feeling you would need it when they called you down. Take care, sister. I love you.”

“I love you too, Gideon.” She glanced down toward the lower floor. “They’re going to be a handful.”

Gideon grinned. “Don’t worry. I can handle them. The spare has to know how to navigate treacherous waters. I think our parents qualify.”

She hugged him again. “Thank you.”

“Just be careful, okay midget? As careful as you can anyway.”

Bríghid slugged him in the arm. “I’m almost as tall as you, you don’t get to call me that anymore.”

“You’ll always be shorter than me, midget. Now go. Your future awaits.”

~~~

Wind blew through her hair as she raced across the plains. Her horse whinnied as she pushed him for more speed. She had left the manor with only a small knapsack and her daggers. The large harvest moon lit her way and for the first time in a long time she felt free. And she intended to stay that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo! Day 8 and counting. Thanks for reading!


	9. Day 9 - Strings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Went Outbreak AU with this one. Mixing it up a bit.

Red, blue, and orange strings cross-crossed over the large map of Thedas, stretching from the southern end near the Kocari Wilds to the west past the Hissing Wastes and as far north as Tevinter. Each string represented a link in the chain to the flow of a virus they were calling Red LV-246 on account of how it caused its victim’s skin and mucous membranes first to turn red and then sores appeared within three to four days. From there the symptoms only got worse, causing a large percentage of those afflicted to suffer from paranoia, hallucinations, and strike out violently at any who approached. Initial thoughts were that it was some new variation of hemorrhagic fever but the first scientists studying the virus quickly determined that this bug was genetically engineered and not from nature. Whoever had cooked it up wanted to create mass panic and chaos and had an agenda that they hadn’t figured out yet.

Bríghid stared at this board every day she came into the office. She was new to the unit that was jokingly called The Inquisition by both those on the unit and those outside of it. The board represented weeks and months of work but they had no clear idea of who was behind the attacks. And they were attacks. They had tracked its origins down to the area around Kirkwall. The first victims were found in the lower belly of the city but it quickly spread to other quarters until Kirkwall had a mass panic on their hands resulting in a riot that had caused dozens of deaths and a city-wide curfew and quarantine that had lasted weeks.

They had thought it contained when no new outbreaks occurred for five months after the events in Kirkwall, but then another outbreak happened at a conference in Cumberland and then another a few weeks later in Val Royeaux. Fortunately the death tolls in both locations had been minimal but it was enough to warrant activating a special unit to track down the maker of Red LV-246 when they realized the problem was bigger than any one country to handle. After three months of scrambling just to keep up they had brought her in, the girl wonder with the big brain. Many in the unit had looked upon her with suspicion at first, wondering who she was to come in and think she could do better than the people who had been working on the case since almost day one.

It was not a comfortable feeling, knowing that she was unwanted by many in the Inquisition, but she had dealt with worse crowds. The thing she didn’t like was the feeling that the whole investigation was being undermined from within.

She couldn’t prove it of course. It was just a feeling afterall. But there were too many coincidences for there not to be someone on the inside. Something just didn’t add up.

Too many strings, too many threads that needed to be pulled. Pull one and you find an abandoned virology lab in Lydes. Pull another and you find another supplying pigs as test subjects in Tantervale. Pull the wrong one and it might all come crashing down.

“You keep staring at that board and you’re going to get a headache. In fact, you already look like you have one. So it’s against my better judgement that I’m giving you this.”

Bríghid jumped at the voice. It was late and she had thought that everyone had left for the day and that she was alone. Despite all the resources that the Inquisition provided her she preferred working alone. Less distractions that way. Easier to think. Easier to work. Two things made more difficult by the man who had just walked in. Cullen Rutherford headed what she termed in her head ‘the muscle’ of the Inquisition and while she logically understood the need for such a team a large part of her hated that it was necessary. The need for an armed force made her uncomfortable but after the attack in Haven they were a necessary evil.

It didn’t help that their commander was one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen and just a glance from him made her feel like the silly teenager she never had been. Science had been her pursuit, vocation, and life for as long as she could remember. Science made sense to her. It had rules, even if it bended them every once in awhile. People, on the other hand, were messy, irrational, and frustrating. Interacting with them was more exhausting than writing her graduate thesis.

Nevertheless, she accepted the hot cup of coffee he offered her with a brief but thankful smile. She inhaled deeply, savoring the smell. There were few things on this planet that she enjoyed more than coffee, it was one of her biggest vices and had gotten her through more than one late night during graduate and then medical school.

“Well, Doctor, any closer to figuring this out?”

Bríghid slid him a glance over the rim of her coffee mug. He, unlike many of the others in the unit, never called her by name. She was always ‘Doctor’ to him. If he had been that formal with everyone she wouldn’t have minded too much but nearly everyone else got called by their first names. She wasn’t sure why that bothered her. Most of the time she had trouble getting people to call her Doctor Trevelyan in the first place, probably something to do with how young she looked, but with him it was different. It was almost like he wanted to keep their relationship professional.

And she should want it that way. Their task was too important, too many lives were at stake for her to let a little crush that she refused to acknowledge get in the way.

“Not since the last time you asked me five hours ago. We’ve just about got the virus completely sequenced. The damned thing keeps shifting on us which is why it’s taking so long. Dorian’s about ready to have kittens if we can’t pin it down soon. He’s getting tired of doing necropsies.”

Cullen grimaced. “I suppose I would too. What about you? You’ve been running non-stop since you got here, running mainly on coffee and junk food.”

“It’s worked for me since high school. Don’t see much of a reason to mess with a well-honed system,” she said carefully, uncertain where this was coming from. It shouldn’t surprise her that he was aware of her habits, the man was on high alert probably eighty percent of the time, but it did. “And I eat more than just junk food. I’ve been known to eat a vegetable from time to time. Research has shown that they’re good for people.”

“And as a doctor you would know all about that.”

Was he… was he _flirting_ with her? Bríghid took a long sip of coffee, it’s rich taste rolling over her tongue, trying to process what was happening. She focused her gaze back on the board and the multicolored strings running across it in an attempt to distance herself. It wasn’t working. He was just too _there_ for her to ignore.

She was about to say something when something on the board caught her eye. Stepping forward, she set her mug on the table to get a closer look. Or that’s what she had intended to do anyway. Somehow gravity and fate conspired against her and she didn’t quite set the mug firmly on the table so it started to fall when she moved forward. In an attempt to stop it from falling her foot slipped on some loose papers that had fallen to the floor. A small cry erupted from her as she began to fall forward but her momentum was halted when a strong arm came around her and held her close.

Bríghid gripped onto those arms, arms that were a _lot_ more muscular than she had thought while she got her feet back under her. Her glasses had gone askew during her near tumble but before she could reach up and straighten them Cullen had already done it for her. She looked up and found his golden whiskey eyes on her with a look she hadn’t seen on his face before.

“Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah. Thanks.”

“You should be more careful. The Inquisition can’t afford to lose you.” Was it her imagination or was she hearing something else in his voice? She held his gaze for a moment longer, her eyes quickly darting down to that scar on his lip that she refused to acknowledge that she fantasized about, before meeting his gaze again.

 _Oh, fuck_.


	10. Day 10 - Honor

Bríghid knelt in a back corner of the courtyard she had designated as a garden, her hands digging into the dirt. Sun beat down on her neck and she knew that sooner or later freckles would be sprouting, not that she minded. A little sun rarely hurt and it was nice just to sit and enjoy nature for a little while, she so rarely had a chance to since the Conclave.

Small seedlings poked out of the freshly turned dirt. Bríghid trailed a finger gently along one of the fragile leaves, praying that they would have a chance to grow. With the way this war was going it was anyone’s guess if they would get that chance. She hoped so.

“What in the world are you doing back here? I arrive,  _ on time _ for our chess game only to find you mysteriously absent. I knew you weren’t with that gorgeous commander of yours as he’s too busy scowling at new recruits.”

“He’s not my commander, Dorian,” she said absently as she placed another seedling into the ground, carefully mounding the dirt around it.

Dorian snorted. “Not for my lack of encouragement in that matter. Honestly, one might think that you enjoy being celibate.”

“There’s more to life than sex, Dorian. Besides, there’s too much to do to.”

“Oh bollocks to that. You make the time. Don’t think that I haven’t caught the way you look at him when you think he’s not looking. He does the same, you know, and… what  _ are _ you doing? Besides making a mess, that is?”

“Planting seedlings.”

Bríghid didn’t need to turn around to know that Dorian was rolling his eyes and smiled to herself. 

“I can plainly see that my dear, the question is why.”

Bríghid didn’t say anything at first. It was difficult to explain really but if anyone would understand it would be Dorian.

“It’s for those we lost in that alternate future we saw. I wanted to honor their sacrifice somehow. And before you start I know that we prevented that future from happening, but that doesn’t make their sacrifice any less.

“Varric and Cassandra, even though they butt heads more often than not, neither of them hesitated going through that door together even though they knew it was a death sentence. They did it to buy us time for you to work your spell. The same with Leliana. I can still see their bodies,” she paused, taking a slow breath. “And then there are all the others we never saw. You heard what Cassandra said, the Inquisition threw everything it had at the castle only to be beaten back. They knew it was fruitless but they still fought, down to the last man, woman, and child. You can’t imagine the nightmares I’ve had with those images in my head.”

Dorian laid a gentle hand on her shoulder as he knelt next to her. On first glance, and perhaps second and third, many people judged him as shallow and arrogant but Bríghid knew about the gentle heart he hid from the world. It was a carefully crafted image he presented. For all his bluster Dorian cared about people, most especially those he considered friends. Bríghid liked to think that she fell into that group.

“Oh, I can imagine. I’ve had a few nightmares myself. Why do you think I drink so much?”

“That’s not funny, Dorian.”

“I know. Just as I know why you’re doing this, why you think it’s necessary. It’s just one your many admirable qualities. They make up for the less than admirable ones.”

“Oh really? And just what are those pray tell?”

“Well, you can be rather crude, a trait you tend to only show to a select few; your sense of style is appalling; and you take yourself way too seriously sometimes.”

“Whereas you don’t take yourself seriously enough. And I’d rather be comfortable than fashionable.”

“Dear Maker, don’t let Vivienne hear you say that. She’ll drag you to Val Royeaux to get a full wardrobe just on principle.”

“She’d have to catch me first. And if you really want to discuss fashion, I could mention the uniforms that Josephine’s making us all wear to Halamshiral.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. Our dear Josephine may be quite the diplomat and player of the Game but she likes ruffles entirely way too much if you ask me.”

Bríghid laughed, she couldn’t help it. Dorian wasn’t exactly wrong and he wasn’t the only one to notice. Why else would Varric give her that nickname?

“Ah, there we go. A laugh at last. Here I was beginning to think that you had forgotten how to. You and your commander really are well matched in that department.”

“Dorian,” she warned.

He held his hands up in surrender. “I’m just pointing out the obvious, darling. If you two aren’t careful someone’s going to lock you up in a closet so you can relieve all that sexual tension.”

Bríghid groaned. This was not a discussion she wanted to have. Ever. “Here,” she said, handing him a seedling in an attempt to get off this particular topic. “If you’re going to stay here and annoy me you might as well be useful.”

He was quiet for a moment, cradling the tiny crystal grace seedling in his palm. “Are you sure? I’m not exactly known for my green thumb.”

She smiled. “I’m sure. Also, you know why I’m doing this and why it’s important.”

“Oh very well,” he said, sighing in fake resignation. “I expect full bath privileges for this.”

“Like you’ve ever taken any other kind, you peacock.”

“Better a peacock than a slovenly wench who uses Avvar war paint as a scare tactic.”

“Shut up and plant that seedling.”

 


	11. Day 11 - Seasons

Bríghid stood alone on one of the more remote parapets of Skyhold, relishing the chance to be alone for once. She had often tried to escape away like this but people eventually found her. It was as dependable as the seasons changing that someone would approach her with one question or another, another demand.

Ostwick had never had seasons, not in the way that most places did. For most of the year the climate was temperate and mild, only occasionally did people have to bundle up in warmer clothing, so Bríghid’s first experience with real winter when she joined clan Light-foot in the Frostbacks was something of a shock. She’d never been so cold in her life. Well, until her half delirious and painful trek through the mountains after the attack on Haven that is.

The Avvar had honored the change of seasons. Gróa had told her that each season had a purpose and had a meaning. She had learned much from the shaman and hoped that those lessons would help her in the times to come.

Winter was a time of darkness, it was a time of stillness and preparation. In the mind of the Avvar it was a time to still the mind and the soul. To Bríghid however, it meant pain and death. Corypheus had made his presence know to all of Thedas in winter. She had very little good memories of winter.

It had been springtime when she had first met the Avvar all those years ago. Spring was a time of change and growth, though she hadn’t realized it at the time just what that change would mean. It had also been springtime when Cullen had brought her to his hometown and the lake that he had spent so much time at escaping his family. There she had realized that her growing feelings for him were approaching something like love.

Summer was the perpetual season of Skyhold. Though it wasn’t natural, it gave the Inquisition a respite from the harshness of the outside world. On a more personal level, it was when she and Cullen had danced on the balcony at Halamshiral, when they had finally consummated their love. It brought her cherished memories that sustained her through the awfulness that was this war.

She wondered what autumn would bring. Like spring it was a time of change, but instead of growth it was harvest and hurry, preparing for the harshness of the winter to come. There was so much to do, she just hoped that they would be able to do it.


	12. Day 12 - Instrument

“Corypheus may be using him like a puppet but it was Samson’s choices that put him in this position to begin with. He doesn’t deserve mercy. He needs to be taken out before he causes anymore damage.”

“I met Samson once or twice during my time in Kirkwall. His situation was pretty pathetic. The Chantry had cut him off from the lyrium they’d addicted him to and he was surviving on whatever lyrium dust he could find. He was desperate to find a source. Desperation is never a good thing,” said Hawke.

Bríghid remained silent during Cullen’s outburst and Éwoyn Hawke’s response. She understood his anger, his frustration, but there was a tiny part of her that wondered if she made one wrong decision too many how others would perceive her. She also understood what Hawke was saying, the point she was trying to make. She didn’t know the woman well, just what she had read in Varric’s book and she took much of that with a grain of salt, but she was forced to side with her. 

That being said, the man had made his choices, choices that led them to where they were now. Hadn’t she made similar choices? Choices that affected the course of the world? 

While Cullen and Hawke continued to argue about what needed to be done next, Bríghid sat back and stewed in her own thoughts. She stared down at her hand, running her thumb across the mark. Her memories of the night she’d been marked, whether by fate or chance, were still hazy. It constantly hurt, sometimes it was just a low ache, sometimes to where she wanted to rip the damn thing off. Today was one of those days and it was making her temper short. She kept the pain to herself. What could anyone do for her anyway? They needed the mark so she could seal the rifts.

Was she not just as much a puppet as Samson? Was she not being used by a giant organization? First they had called her the Herald of Andraste and now she was the Inquisitor, neither roles she had chosen, both had been thrust upon her despite her objections. Was she not just as much their instrument of destruction as Samson was Corypheus’? She just didn’t know.

Was her life ever going to be her own again? She was so tired of being used.

“Arguing about this is useless considering we all know that he needs to be stopped. Samson is Corypheus’ general and he needs to be stopped. Whatever his motivations were or are, they’re irrelevant. Our primary goal right now is cutting off the red templars from their source of red lyrium. The fewer red behemoths I have to fight the better. We’ll head out to Emprise du Lion in the morning.”

“Wait, what about the Western Approach? Shouldn’t that take precedence?” Hawke demanded, her ever shifting hazel to steel grey colored eyes zeroing in on her. Bríghid knew that the Champion had a personal stake in this as her sister was a Grey Warden but she couldn’t solely focus on that.

“Fighting this war means we have multiple fronts and have to pull on many different threads. Shutting down the red lyrium caravans is a big fucking thread.” 

Bríghid pushed away from the table, the force of her movement knocking over her chair. Both Hawke and Cullen stared at her, shocked at her outburst. “I’ve made my decision. Deal with it.”

She walked out of Cullen’s office without looking at either of them, ignoring Cullen calling out her name. It was time that she became her own instrument. It was time for her to take her fate in her own hands.


	13. Day 13 - Foolish

Sweat was cooling on her skin but it was taking longer for Bríghid’s heart to return back to its normal rhythm. Her head hung part way off the bed, her leg muscles quivering as they fell from around Cullen’s waist. His head lay in the valley of her breast, his breath streaming against her warm skin. She threaded her fingers through his mussed curly hair, a satisfied smile on her face. 

Birdsong floated through the broken ceiling of Cullen’s room. Opening her eyes she watched as wispy clouds floated silently above them. She idly wondered if she could get the builders to prioritize fixing his ceiling. While she was accustomed to sleeping outdoors, when she had four walls around her a ceiling was a nice thing to have.

Cullen pressed a gentle kiss just above where her heart lay before nuzzling at her breasts, his day-old beard scratching against her skin.

Bríghid couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her. Maker, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this good. And happy. She actually felt happy. The closest she’d come previous to tonight since all this started was when she was riding.

“Something funny, my dear?” Cullen asked as he raised his head to rest his chin on her chest. Bríghid brought up her head to meet his gaze, her body warming at the half sleepy smile he was giving her. She trailed her fingers down his cheek, her thumb tracing over the scar on his lip. A smile grew on her face as she looked at him and was filled with a sense of wonder. In looking at him she felt like she finally had something tangible to fight for and in realizing that, she finally understood what was missing.

“Nothing really. I just, well, I’m happy,” she paused, her brow wrinkling slightly. “It that foolish? To not only want happiness but to actually be happy?”

“Foolish? No, I don’t think it is. Why else are we fighting this war for unless it’s for happiness, for peace, for love.”

Bríghid’s smile grew. “Who knew that you have not only the heart of a warrior, but the soul of a poet? No one would believe me if I told them.”

Cullen chuckled. “It would definitely give them some pause I’m sure.” He pushed himself up, capturing her hand to help pull her up into his embrace. They fell back onto the bed, the mattress giving somewhat under their weight. Bríghid settled onto him, her head resting on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. He was so solid and steady and she found it a blessing that she was able to have something like this in her life.

Bríghid had nearly dropped off into sleep when Cullen gentle stroking hit a tender spot on her waist and she twitched. She held her breath hoping that Cullen hadn’t noticed but she should have known better as he lightly ran his fingers over the spot again. Despite her effort to remain still her body betrayed her as it spasmed again.

“Bríghid.”

She dug her face into his chest even as she tried to evade his curious fingers.

“Bríghid, are you ticklish?”

Bríghid tried to roll away from him but even with her quick reflexes he had the reach and flexibility to pull her back. Over the next several minutes Cullen searched for more of those sensitive spots until Bríghid was shrieking with laughter and begging mercy. Breathless, she finally managed to get on top and pin his arms above his head. She was pretty sure he was letting her but at the moment she was going to take it.

“I am not ticklish. The Inquisitor would not allow such a weakness.”

Cullen raised an eyebrow at her statement. Bríghid heard herself, knowing how ridiculous she sounded and didn’t care.

“Fine. But as your Inquisitor I demand that you keep this information to yourself.” When he just smirked up at her, she pressed harder on his arms, leaning down closer. “Well Commander? Do I have your word?”

Instead of answering Cullen smirked at her, the scar on his lip twitching. She was about to ask him again when he suddenly flipped their positions. Bríghid squealed in outrage as he settled on top of her. He brushed his nose against hers once, twice, before placing a light kiss upon her lips.

“As you wish.”


	14. Day 14 - Haunted

“Oh please, that place barely counts as a haunting.”

“It had undead. Things flew about the rooms. I believe a vase actually hit you in the head. There were moaning sounds in the walls.”

“Those were spirits, stirred up by that nug-humping statute Bartrand took.”

“There was  _ literal spectral golem _ , Varric.”

Bríghid came up behind Varric and Hawke. Each had a tankard of ale in front of them, seemingly forgotten in their argument.

“What  _ are _ you two arguing about?”

“Hawke here is trying to convince me of all the haunted places we’ve been. It’s total nugshit.”

“Oh really,” Éowyn Hawke drawled. “Then why did you have Bartrand’s house razed to the ground and turn into a park?”

“It was cheaper than fixing the place up and trying to sell it.”

“Because no one would buy it because it was haunted?”

“No. Because no one wants to buy a house where people died.”

“Varric, if people didn’t buy houses because someone died in it half the homes in Kirkwall would be empty. More than half actually.”

“Wait,” Bríghid interrupted. “This place of your brother’s, it had spirits in it?”

“Well, yes,” Varric said grudgingly. “But they were stirred up by that red lyrium statue. The place would have been fine if not for that thrice damned thing. Should have left it buried in the Deep Roads.”

“You’ll get no argument from me on that,” Hawke said quietly.

An awkward silence followed that with Varric and Hawke starring down into their mugs. Bríghid shifted on her feet not sure at first what to say. And then an idea sprouted. A somewhat evil idea.

“Varric, you’re probably right. The place probably wasn’t haunted.”

“Ha! See Hawke? I knew she’d take my side.”

Hawke rolled her eyes. “She said  _ probably _ , Varric. Probably. There’s a key difference there.”

“Well, you’re not wrong. It’s probably not haunted. Unlike the Fallow Mire.”

Varric gave her a sharp look. His mouth twisting in distaste. “It’s just a bog. A creepy bog to be sure, but nonetheless a bog.”

Bríghid raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? That’s strange. When I had to go back there to confront that moron, what did he call himself, ah yes, the Hand of Korth, stupid name. Anyway, when I had to go back there I couldn’t get you to come for love or money. I believe you said you had important paperwork that had to be done for the guilds.”

Now it was Hawke’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Paperwork? Really Varric? You used paperwork as an excuse to get out of going? Back in Kirkwall you jumped at the slightest excuse to escape doing paperwork. One such venture involved looking for some special herbs that apothecary in the Gallows wanted.”

“Well, time changes a man.”

Both women snorted, sharing a knowing glance before bursting out in laughter. When Varric told them to knock it off they just laughed harder until tears were flowing down their cheeks. Disgusted, Varric stood up, grumbling something about having to attend to some correspondence to which Bríghid had to grab her stomach as a stitch pulled at her side. Hawke was laughing so hard that she let out a couple of most unladylike snorts.

After he left, Bríghid managed to pull herself together, wiping tears from her eyes. “Oh my, I can’t think of the last time that I’ve laughed that hard,” she said.

“And at Varric’s expense too. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone get the better of him like that,” Hawke told her. “He’ll figure out a way to get some revenge. You know that right?”

“I’m sure he will,” Bríghid said, a wicked smile growing on her face. “I’ll just have to tell him the story about the haunted painting of a child. Rumor has it that it climbs out at night and takes your soul.”

Hawke, who had been taking a drink, spit ale out through her nose. “Oh, Maker,  _ please _ let me be there when you tell it to him. I could use another good laugh.”

“I think I can arrange that,” Bríghid said, the wicked smile spreading further even as laughter burst out of her again. Who would have guessed that Varric Tethras, renowned storyteller and bullshitter was afraid of ghosts?


	15. Day 15 - Intimacy

Bríghid looked around her and was amazed that most of her companions sat at the table. Solas, Vivienne, and Leliana had begged off, again, all claiming that they had more important things that needed to be attended to. Of the three Bríghid was sure that Leliana was the only one who was telling the truth. Technically Sera was there too but she was mostly passed out under the table. Again. Cole it seemed had learned not to announce what he had in his hand and Bríghid suspected that Varric had been coaching the boy.

The game of Wicked Grace had become something of a ritual when everyone was in Skyhold as it served as a way to get people unwind and for the most part it seemed to be working. It was truly a marvel that all these people with their various backgrounds, opinions, and prejudices were able to come to the table for an evening of fun and relaxation.

What made it even more amazing that this was not the first time they had come together like this. It was a kind of familiarity, a kind of intimacy she hadn’t expected to find within the Inquisition.

Even Cullen was present, something she wouldn’t have thought possible after what had happened the first time they had played but it seemed that he had learned his lesson to not bet against Josephine and was taking a more cautious approach. Dorian bemoaned this fact, seemingly disappointed that the Commander’s bare ass wouldn’t be on display for all to see again. Privately Bríghid agreed even though she thought it was slightly cruel for Josephine to keep his clothes like she had.

It was odd to see him unwind as he so rarely did so. He was so dedicated to the Inquisition that he often forgot to eat, only doing so when Rylen shoved a plate at him. That she was the one instructing Rylen to do so was their little secret. She watched him over her cards, not paying too much attention to the game. Ever since that kiss on the ramparts he had clouded her mind and seeing him like this clouded it even more.

Something kicked her ankle sharply. She suppressed a yelp and glared at the culprit. Dorian leaned over and whispered, “If you’re going to ogle your commander, do try to be more circumspect about it. You’re going to end up losing your clothes to our lovely Antivan ambassador if you’re not careful.”

“Shut up, Dorian,” she growled at him quietly. She thought that she _had_ been circumspect.

“Careful with the blushing. Everyone will wonder why.”

“I hate you,” she muttered at him as she looked down at her hand. It was complete shit. If she played this she _would_ end up losing her clothes. Resigned, she folded. “That’s it for me. It’s just not my night.” Half the table protested as she stood up but she waved them off with the excuse that she was tired. She caught Cullen’s gaze and held it for a second before heading toward the door.

She pulled her cloak tighter around her as she left Herald’s Rest. The tavern had been overly warm and stepping outside was more refreshing than she had expected. Looking up toward her tower room she contemplated doing exactly what she had told the others but she felt too restless to do so. She’d just end up pacing the room and annoying herself and she didn’t feel like going down to the hot spring underneath the castle. No, she wanted fresh air. What she _really_ wanted was to saddle up Vidarson and ride free but she’d never get out of the castle without at least three escorts, which would defeat the purpose.

Instead she turned to the ramparts, picking her way through the half-repaired walkways to a remote part of the outer wall just above the stables. Few came up here, partly because it was difficult to get to and partly because it was a dead end. Laughing to herself she remembered when she had leapt over the wall onto the roof of the stables. She’d scared the shit out of Blackwall and gotten a scolding from Master Dennett for needlessly startling the horses. The latter she’d felt bad about, not so much the former, even if the warden had nearly drawn his sword on her.

The wind had a bit of a bite to it when she finally reached her destination. She pulled up the hood of her cloak and stared off into the Frostbacks. They were such a lonely place, these mountains even with the Inquisition crawling over half of it. Looking up she could see greens and purples painting the sky, not the greens and purples of a rift, thank the Maker, but those of the mysterious lights that appeared from time to time. Gróa had claimed that it was a bridge into the Lady of the Skies domain, one forged by Korth the Mountain-Father so he could visit his love. The shaman had painted a great love story between the two, one that had been almost destroyed because of the jealously that Hakkon Wintersbreath bore. The Three, as the Avvar called them had peacefully ruled together for millennia until something had turned Hakkon’s heart cold and hate replaced the love he once bore them. Some Avvar said it was the meddling of Imhar the Clever that caused the rift between the Three, some claimed it was just the gods’ nature, for they were often capricious and sometimes cruel.

The scraping of boot on stone announced that someone was coming, so she was only mildly surprised when they spoke. “You left earlier than I thought you would. Is everything okay?”

Without turning around, she replied, “I’m fine. I just needed some air.”

“And you came all the way over here to get it? It’s rather out of the way,” Cullen said as he came to her side.

“Well, it has the advantage of no patrols so you can see it’s appeal,” she said. Cullen hummed in response, looking out over the mountains with her.

“Can’t say I disagree with that. It is nice for once not to have runners coming every five minutes with yet another report.”

Bríghid tried and failed to suppress the laugh that came out of her, remembering the last time they’d been up on the ramparts and were interrupted. “I do hope that you’ve relieved Jim from latrine duty. A rather harsh punishment I think for just doing his job. I would have thought your glower was more than enough.”

Cullen chuckled as he took up her hand, his gloved thumb brushing over his knuckles. “I’d like to think I’m not that petty but he did interrupt a big moment.”

“A big moment? So that wasn’t what you wanted?”

“Not exactly. I’d been wanting to kiss you for so long that I’m afraid I reacted rather poorly.”

Bríghid flushed. Just how long had he thought about kissing her? As long as she had thought about kissing him?

“That wasn’t exactly a bad kiss,” she said, trying to keep her composure. It was difficult with him standing this close to her. “Or the one that followed. I take it you had something different in mind?” Her heart stumbled a little when he brought her hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. Well then.

“No it wasn’t, but it wasn’t exactly what I had in my head either.”

“May I ask what was in your head?”

“How about I show you instead,” he said, cupping her cheek with one hand as he stepped closer. His lips brushed lightly against hers at first, taking in her bottom lip between his. Unbidden her head tilted back, giving him better access as he deepened the kiss, his other arm snaking around her waist to pull her flush to him. He let loose a slight growl when she pressed into him and kissed him back, running her tongue along his bottom lip.

His fingers slid into her hair, loosening it from its braid as he trailed kisses down her jaw and found the pulsepoint on her throat. He flicked the spot with his tongue before pressing his lips to it. Bríghid groaned as he returned back to her lips. Her fingers were tangled in the fur of his mantel in a desperate attempt to just hold on. She didn’t think that she’d ever been kissed with this kind of intent before. The man knew exactly what he was doing.

He finally pulled back but just enough to rest his forehead against hers. Their breaths mingled in the night air as they held each other close. Bríghid tightened her grip on him for she knew that these intimate moments alone would be rare and she was going to savor every second of it.


	16. Day 16 - Defiance

“Inquisitor!”

Bríghid looked across the courtyard to see Josephine rushing toward her with some urgency, a rare look of panic spread across her face. The last time Josephine was run like this was when a pair of Orlesian nobles had threatened a duel in the main hall. Taking a closer look it seemed that the ambassador was even more distressed. Bríghid couldn’t help the sigh she let out as she dismounted Vidarson. Just once she’d like to return to Skyhold and not have some imminent disaster waiting for her. She was tired and sweaty from being on the road and all she wanted to do was take a long soak and perhaps convince Cullen to join her.

“Inquisitor! You must come quickly. We need you in the prison.”

“The prison? Why on Thedas-?”

“It is better if you see for yourself.”

Frowning, she handed Vidarson’s reigns to a waiting soldier and followed Josephine through the courtyard. Soldiers and civilians alike loitered around the entrance, sharing sneaking glances at each other. She noticed a few giving her suspicious glances, glances she hadn’t seen since the early days of the Inquisition. Something icy crawled through her belly at the memory, bringing back memories that she would… no. No, she was not going to take a stroll back through those early days.

Setting her jaw she continued following Josephine down into the prison. She hated that this place was necessary but the Inquisition had many enemies that would love nothing more than to see it all burn to the ground. If they didn’t find a way to stop Corypheus and his army they very well may get their wish.

Guards came to attention as she entered the prison. It wasn’t used much yet. There was an occasion where a soldier or two had drunk too much and had been tossed in so they could sleep it off. Most of the prisoners had short lived visits there, either being turned over to one kingdom or another or sent to work with whatever group they had offended. She supposed that they were lucky that they hadn’t had any in for an extended period of time. Yet.

Torchlight flickered in the main room and she spied Cullen, Leliana, and Cassandra standing in a semicircle in front of one of the cells, none of them looking very happy. Leliana was mostly her usual inscrutable self while both Cullen and Cassandra looked ready to start a fight, or finish one. Who was in the cell that had gotten them so riled up?

“Josephine, what’s going on?” she asked quietly, pausing at the threshold. She needed to have some idea of what was going on before she could confront it.

“Well, Inquisitor, I. Well, it seems that another Avvar has come to speak with you.”

Bríghid slapped her hand in her face. “Please tell me that I don’t have to have a crew clean goat’s blood off the walls again.”

“Oh no, nothing like that,” Josephine assured her. “He was rather belligerent when we told him you weren’t here. I believe he thought we were hiding you from him. Said something about how the fire-touched girl couldn’t be hidden from him. I’m afraid he put up quite a fight when Cullen insisted that he wait outside the castle with the rest of his clan until you returned.”

“Fire-touched?” Bríghid sucked in a breath. It couldn’t be, could it?

She rushed forward, pushing through her advisors to see the nearly seven foot tall Avvar, painted with blue and green markings and wearing the most disgruntled look on his face.

“Frey! What in the world?” She spun around, holding out her hand. “Give me the key.”

“Inquisitor, I must protest. We know nothing about-.”

“ _I_ know him, Leliana, and that should be enough for you,” she snapped, defiant for once in the face of her spymaster. Impatient she snatched the keys from her.

“Inquisitor-,” Cullen began.

“Shut up.” Bríghid turned to Frey, a mix of joy and grief on her face. She had never thought to see him again. The lock clicked loudly and she swung the door open. Frey stood inside the cell, his large arms crossed over his chest. Bríghid could feel her advisors’, especially Cullen’s stare at her back but she forced back any concern she had about their disapproval. She knew she was putting the newly found relationship with Cullen at risk but she refused to change who she was to accommodate him.

“So. The girl touched by fire still has her bite I see. I had worried that you had gone soft among all these lowlanders.”

“Unlikely.” She poked at his belly. “It would seem that _someone_ has become a hearthfire idiot since I left. You look like you drank all the hold’s ale.”

“Says the person who could and has drunk me under the table.”

Bríghid’s smile grew wide as she launched herself at him. Frey’s large arms took her in, spinning her around as they both laughed. He kissed her soundly as he set her down, keeping his arms around her as he glared out at her advisors.

“Are you satisfied that I mean this one no harm, lowlanders? Or does clan Light-foot need to set down a challenge when we came to offer help to the one who will heal the Lady of the Skies?”

Bríghid turned and stared defiantly at the four of them. Various looks of consternation to resignation filled their faces and perhaps a slight tinge of green from one of them. Jutting her chin out she said, “We are not so strong that we can afford to turn away help when offered freely. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, Inquisitor. I’ll see to it that the rest of his party is taken care of,” said Josephine.

“Good. They’ll not need much but I want them to feel welcome. They are my family after all.”

A chorus of acknowledgements sounded around her. Nodding firmly, she grabbed Frey’s hand and pulled him out of the cell. She would have words with them later about them putting Frey in there but for now she just wanted to spend time with her friend.


	17. Day 17 - Jubilant

The wide open plain stretched out before her, making her fingers itch to release the reigns and fly with Vidarson across the landscape. For the past several weeks she’d been crawling through ruins and poking in dank caves or stuck in Skyhold discussing strategy and it was beginning to make her cranky. She could tell Vidarson was feeling the same with the way he stomped at the ground whenever they stopped for more than five minutes. Behind her, beside her, in front of her rode members of the Inquisition, both several of her regular companions as well as her advisors.

Bríghid snorted. Advisors. Who would have ever thought that she would be in a position to where she needed, or wanted, advisors. Certainly not her.

No, she’d had every intention of leaving this type of life behind when she left home at sixteen. Looking back at that time she was hard pressed to believe that she had survived. A young woman travelling on the road alone would seem an easy target to many. And several had tried but were left nursing bruises and the occasional broken nose or rib. Her mother may have thought that she didn’t have skills but she did; just not the type her mother wanted or approved for her daughter to have. She had Gideon to thank for that. And Baldr, Astrid, and Frey for helping to take those skills and hone them to a razor’s edge.

An unbidden sigh escaped her as she stared out across the grassland. They were returning from a trip to Edgehall, a small arling to the west of Lake Calenhad. It had been a contentious area for decades, first belonging to the dwarves before they abandoned it, letting the Lendon family take over. Years of war and strife either with Orlais or darkspawn or the occasional Avvar raid had made the people of Edgehall uneasy and now with red templars and the Venatori an Inquisition presence was most welcomed by many.

She had to admit that sometimes a show of pomp and circumstance could raise a people’s spirits. She hadn’t wanted to, but seeing the looks on those people’s faces when they saw the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, the woman with the glowing hand who could save them all, it made her realize that she had given them hope when hope was running thin.

And that was an uneasy burden that sat on her shoulders.

Bríghid looked out over the plains again. They were nearing the foothills of the Frostbacks, the tall mountains already casting shadows over the land below as the sun lowered itself toward the horizon. It’d be dark soon and she had no doubt that one or another of her people (or several) would want a word with her.

“You’re looking itchy, boss.”

Iron Bull had pulled up next to her, his destrier’s ears twitching as he did so. Perhaps she wasn’t the only one who wanted to let go.

“Am I that obvious?”

“Only to some I would think. To a careful observer however, I’d say you’re about ready to explode.”

Bríghid didn’t even bother to suppress a sigh. It wasn’t like she could really argue with his assessment. She knew she was wound up tight but she couldn’t exactly go racing across the plains. Could she?

“See that tree line?”

“Yeah. You expecting trouble?”

“Not exactly.”

“Looking to _make_ trouble?”

The smile that spread across was positively wicked. Solas, who had been riding somewhat close to them, looked at them askance, his perpetual frown deepening.

“Inquisitor, I don’t think-.”

Bríghid grinned hard at Iron Bull, ignoring Solas’s attempt at caution. “Race you to the tree line. Loser buys the ale.”

“Oh you’re on.”

Bríghid didn’t wait for him to finish speaking before she gave Vidarson his head, breaking through the front line of soldiers, tearing up the ground beneath him. Wind sang through her hair as she leaned into Vidarson’s neck, urging him for more speed. She could hear Iron Bull’s destrier behind them, thundering across the plain. With a laugh on her lips, she removed her right foot from its stirrup and bent over to the side, one leg curving over Vidarson’s back. Blood rushed to her head as she bent further backward and snatched at an Embrium plant as they raced by, plucking it from the ground and placing it between her teeth before pulling herself back up into the saddle.

Glancing over her shoulder she saw the shock on Iron Bull’s face and laughed, the sound of it echoing throughout the plains. She reached the edge of the woods three and a half strides ahead of him, a brilliant smile on her face. Never did she feel more free and happy than when she was riding.

“Pay up, big guy. You owe me an ale or three.”

He leaned forward on his destrier as if he was trying to catch his breath and it took her a moment to realize that he was laughing.

“Damned show off,” he grumbled good-naturedly. “After that performance I’ll buy you a whole damn brewery. With flexibility like that Cullen is a lucky man.”

“Oh, you have _no_ idea,” she smiled, her face flush from the excitement of the ride. “He may have the reach on me but I’m definitely the flexible one. Something we both benefit from.”

Iron Bull laughed heartily. “You’ve got a spark in you for sure boss and it ain’t that thing on your hand. You Avvar friend is right, you are fire-touched.”

Bríghid snorted. “Frey can’t take credit for that; it was his father the thane who first called me that. It sort of caught on after that and the hold went with it. It was better than being called little lowlander all the time.”

“Well, if the shoe fits,” he started.

Bríghid tossed the flower at him before dismounting. Looking across the plain she could see several soldiers hurrying to catch up with them. She probably pay in some subtle, or not so subtle way for this little stunt but it was worth it. The tension was gone from her shoulders replaced by happiness. Vidarson wickered, nudging his head at her. Bríghid bowed her head to his and closed her eyes, inhaling the horse’s musky scent. Peaking her eyes opening she spied Cullen leading the soldiers, a look of resignation and not a little pride on his face. Yes, she was happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious, the arling of Edgehall is actually canon. You'll find it not only in the DA Wiki but also the DA rpg.
> 
> And if you're doubly curious about the stunt that Bríghid pulled look no further than the beach battle from Wonder Woman. I saw the maneuver there and just knew that it was something that Bríghid learned during her time with the Avvar. If you want to see more of that just google cossack horse riding and there are a TON of videos.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	18. Day 18 - Waiting

Bríghid peered out the window, glaring at the sheets of rain that fell on the world around the small shelter she had taken refuge in. It had been raining for what seemed like days and the weather on the Storm Coast was always precarious enough as it was. The waters along the coast had claimed many an unwary sailor, littering the seabed with the bones of wrecked ships. After leaving Ostwick she had crossed the Waking Sea, landing in Amaranthine. The Fereldan port was a lively place, especially considering how narrowly it had avoided complete destruction in the days and months following the end of the Blight.

She’d heard the stories of course, even as far away as Ostwick, but they’d been just stories to her at the time. Having actually visited the city now she could see the marks the city still bore from that awful time. If it hadn’t been for a split-second decision made by Warden Commander Cousland the city would have been lost to a flood of darkspawn. A small memorial had been erected in the town’s square with the names of all those who had been lost in the battle, a list that would have been much longer if circumstances had been different.

All of Ferelden, the part she’d seen thus far anyway, still bore the marks of the Blight. She’d visited Redcliff long ago when she was a girl but wasn’t sure if she had the courage to go see the city now. The visit had been mostly a disaster as far as she was concerned, the only highlight being the time she spent in the stables and meeting an odd blonde little boy who was more mud than boy. She never did get his name as he insisted on being called Dog Lord as that was what everyone else called him. Despite his jokes she had sensed a sadness about him.

It was also during that visit that she’d had her second encounter with the Avvar. It was the same clan, the same giant man she’d met at the horse races only this time he’d brought his son Frey and daughter Astrid with him. She’d taken one of the ponies from the stables with the aide of the boy, who had insisted on accompanying her as he couldn’t in good conscience ‘let a noble lady go about alone.’ At twelve her rebellious streak was just starting to blossom enough that she bristled at his words but not enough to let his budding chivalrousness stop her from going.

She remembered being surprised at seeing Baldr, as he had finally introduced himself, standing on that ridge overlooking Redcliff. She had half thought she had imagined that whole episode at the races but she would have never forgotten the horse he rode. Vidar, that’s what his name was, she’d had dreams about him ever since that day. And to see him again after so many years? It had been like a dream come true.

Bríghid sighed as she stepped away from the window. She wondered where Vidar was now, if  he was even still alive. It was possible with how long they lived. She hoped so.

One thing was sure. She felt like she was in some kind of limbo, like she was waiting for something. What that was only time would tell.


	19. Day 19 - Nature

“These are strange times. Strange times indeed.”

Bríghid gave the dwarf standing next to her the side-eye. “You lived through ten years of madness in Kirkwall and you’re just now realizing this?”

“That was different. Sort of. Back then we dealt with cranky qunari and a power hungry Knight-Commander. Not to mention the blood mages.” Varric sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I guess things haven’t changed too much. It’s just all on a much bigger scale. I rarely had to leave Kirkwall to help Hawke. With you, you’ve got me trekking all over southern Thedas. My blisters have blisters.”

“Could be worse. I could be dragging you into caves, or even the Deep Roads. We all know how much you love those.”

“And you have my eternal gratitude for that. Remind me though to not get on your bad side.”

Bríghid chuckled. “Just keep me out of whatever story you’re writing and I think you’ll be safe.”

“Oh, you’re no fun. Don’t you want your deeds documented for future generations. Spreading the tales of the Inquisition, that would make quite a story.”

“I’m sure but you have a bad habit of embellishing.”

“You wound me, Inquisitor. I only write the truth.”

She snorted. She’d read the Tale of the Champion and has serious doubts about the veracity of some of the accounts. Having met Iron Bull and sparred with him, she had trouble believing that Hawke had been able to beat the Arishok in single combat. Short of running around in circles and hoping beyond hopes that would wear him down enough to kill him she just didn’t see how it was possible no matter how skilled a fighter Éowyn Hawke was. A pissed off and determined qunari was no time to try to test your mettle.

Then again, it made for a hell of a story. People wanted to believe in the impossible. Why else would they think she was the chosen Herald of Andraste? She who had spent five years with the barbarian Avvar and was ‘tainted’ by their ways. She supposed it was just in people’s nature to believe whatever they wanted as long as it reinforced their worldview. And the stronger their worldview the more they clung to those beliefs no matter what hard evidence was presented to them.

“Varric?” she asked hesitantly, not completely sure if she wanted to know the answer to the question she was about to ask but she had to know. Curiosity, yet another trait of people’s natures that could lead to trouble. “Do people still consider me the Herald of Andraste? I would think the events at Adamant proved that I’m not.”

Varric put down his quill, a contemplative look on his face. “There’s still talk, especially among the more faithful. It’s hard to fight against the spectacle you created when you stepped out of the Fade. Both times.”

“What about you? Do you still think so?”

“Hell, I don’t know. This is all above my paygrade. If I put all this into a book my editor would call it unrealistic.”

“It’s my life, Varric, not a book for entertainment,” she paused, nervously fidgeting with the papers scattered across the table. “It’s not an easy thing knowing that the fate of the world rests solely on your shoulders. No one should have to bear this weight.”

“But you’re not bearing it alone, that’s the thing that you have to remember. Hawke experienced something similar during those years in Kirkwall and I’m damned sure that the Hero of Ferelden felt the same, but none of them were alone in their journey, neither are you.”

“I know that, it’s just that,” she paused again, fumbling with her words. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but as much as I appreciate all of you for sticking with me through all this, it’s not the same as knowing what it’s like.”

“You’re right,” he said, sighing. “It’s too bad that Hawke felt it necessary to go to Weisshaupt. She’d be someone you could talk to about this. She didn’t ask for all the shit that Kirkwall threw at her. You don’t deserve this either.”

“Maybe not but it doesn’t change the fact that it does fall to me to close the rifts and stop Corypheus from crossing into the Fade. He does that and he’ll break the world, Varric.”

“Yeah, it’s a shitty situation all around. I guess we just have to take it one day at a time and hold onto the good things that happen. Those more than anything are what’s going to get us all through this.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Bríghid’s fingers twitched, suddenly wishing for a pint or three of ale. Giving him a half smile, she said, “How’d a so-called simple businessman get to be so smart.”

“With a lot of bullshit and luck.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me. Wanna get an ale and leave all this paperwork behind for awhile?”

“I thought you’d never ask. Maybe we can get a couple games of Wicked Grace in too.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged.”


	20. Day 20 - Sheltered

Bríghid walked into the small chapel with no small amount of hesitation. As a rule she didn’t come in here often, or ever really. Many considered it sacrilege that the so-called Herald of Andraste didn’t have any faith in the Maker and his bride and there were a few that went out of their way to attempt to convince her just how wrong she was. They all went away disappointed and didn’t try again. She had no intention of being guilted into believing in something she didn’t just to make others happy. 

At the same time she didn’t mock people for their faith. They had every right to believe in what they wanted as long as that faith didn’t harm others. She’d come to the conclusion long ago that she didn’t so much have a problem with the Maker or Andraste herself, it was the people who claimed to follow in their footsteps that were the problem. Many of Thedas’ problems could be laid at the Chantry’s feet. It was a complicated matter in many ways but for those who found solace in a simple life of service, who found shelter there, she had no right to stop them from practicing their faith.

Even before she’d been named the Herald of Andraste she’d had a very shaky relationship with the Chantry. As a third child it had been expected that she serve it in someway if she couldn’t find a suitable husband. That she wanted neither as it wasn’t her choice wasn’t taken into consideration by her parents so she had left, not seeing them for five years, and then only briefly as she needed their connections to get to the Conclave. Neither of her parents had seemed all that happy to see her as her running away had put a black mark on the family name. Despite how she felt about their treatment of her, their behavior had still hurt. Gideon had been the only one who had been happy and relieved to see her, though he had questioned her desire to attend the Conclave. She hadn’t really been able to explain it to him, especially when she barely understood it herself. All she knew was that she trusted Gróa and if the shaman believed that her presence there was important she was going to believe her.

If she had known at the time what her presence there would mean she would have balked. Hard. 

The mark on her hand flared, a spike of pain shooting up her arm. Though her memories of that day had returned she still wasn’t completely sure what had compelled her to go into that room. Logically she knew that if she hadn’t interrupted Corypheus’s ritual that Thedas would be in even worse shape than it already was, but shit, she couldn’t be faulted for wishing this responsibility had fallen on someone else’s shoulders. If Cassandra had been able to find Warden-Commander Cousland or Éowyn Hawke before the Conclave one of them would probably be standing where she was. It was hard to tell. Fate was a tricky thing and didn’t like being messed with. In the end there was probably nothing that could have changed what happened to her.

Looking at the man kneeling before the statue of Andraste she couldn’t deny that it was all bad. In fact some of it was pretty damned good.

Cullen raised his head as she closed the door behind her but remained kneeling, looking up at the statue as if he was pleading for something. Pleading for what she didn’t know. It had been a long and rocky road from the start and the future only promised more. The final confrontation was coming soon, she could feel it, but that didn’t necessarily mean that it would be over. Something or someone had allowed or helped Corypheus rise to power. Certainly the ancient magister was powerful and capable of making impossible and horrible things happen but surely someone had given him the key to break the Fade. 

“Am I intruding? Because I can leave,” she said, holding back the fact that she had wanted, no  _ needed _ to see him after she got back from the Hissing Wastes. It’d been nearly two weeks and she missed him desperately. It had scared her early on just how much she’d come to rely on him but over time she’d come to accept it. Just like how people’s faith gave them shelter, so did he.

“No, I’m done,” he said as he stood up and turned to her, a corner of his lips curving up at the sight of her, his eyes drinking her in. “Besides, what I was praying for was delivered. You made it back safely. And it would seem that for once you aren’t covered in blood or the guts of a gurgut.”

“I would suggest not looking in my bathtub then if you want to hold onto that illusion,” she said, giving him a smile of his own as she approached him. She raised a hand, her fingers lightly touching his face, tracing along the scar that slashed across his lips. He turned into her hand and kissed her palm as he drew her close, kissing her softly, his lips tasting faintly of cloves and feverfew. Bríghid pulled back and searched his face carefully, looking for any hint of pain. There was a slight tightness around his eyes that hinted that he was having another headache. At least the stubborn man was actually taking the tincture the healers had prescribed for him.

“How bad is it?”

He sighed, pressing his forehead against hers. “You are too perceptive for your own good.”

“Cullen.”

“It’s not that bad. I caught it early this time and took my medicine like a good boy. Besides, I’m feeling much better now that you’re back. I missed you.”

“I missed you too. I do not recommend the Hissing Wastes as a vacation spot. At least not until we clear out all the Venatori.”

“I’ll send some troops. Rylen’s been itching to change posts.” He sighed again, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her neck, his lips ghosting over her skin before settling his head on her shoulder. Even as tall as she was he still topped her by several inches, the position couldn’t be comfortable for him. 

“Cullen, what’s wrong?”

He didn’t speak for a while, instead he just stood there holding her close to him. When she started to pull back to look at him he just held her tighter. 

“Cullen?”

He finally pulled back but brought her in for another kiss, this one more needy with a hint of desperation. She was left somewhat breathless when he eventually pulled back but she still saw the lines of worry on his face.

“We’re coming to the end here, coming to that final push against Corypheus. I know that you must face him, but Maker, I wish you didn’t have to. I want nothing more than to take you far away from here.”

“Cullen-,” she started only to be stopped when he touched his fingers gently to her lips.

“You mean so much to me, more than I thought any one person ever would. Before you all I had was my duty to the Chantry but with you I can see a different future, one I desperately want and I’m afraid that I’ll lose it, lose you.”

Bríghid took a deep breath. Cullen wasn’t often one for voicing what he was feeling but the times when he did it damn near overwhelmed her. She stared at him for a moment before she reached into her leather jerkin and pulled out the necklace she wore around her neck. In addition to a crystal Astrid had given her was the coin he had given her. She’d had Dagna encase it in a kind of glass that wouldn’t shatter and kept the coin safe.

“Do you remember when you gave this to me? You called it lucky and wanted me to have it. Seeing as I haven’t lost any limbs I think your lucky charm has worked, I see no reason for that to stop now. I keep it close to my heart as a way of having a piece of you with me all the time.”

Cullen let out a shaky breath, cupping her face with both hands. “You humble me. I know I shouldn’t let my fears get the best of me but I just love you so much that if I were to lose you I don’t know what I would do.”

“You’d survive because I’d haunt your ass if you didn’t. Besides, you’re not going to lose me. Corypheus has taken enough from Thedas. He won’t take this. I refuse to let him.”

He laughed, kissing her briefly, his fingers playing with the damp, loose ends of her hair. “Only you would walk up to an ancient Tevinter magister and spit in his eye.”

“Well, someone has to, so why not me I guess.” She stepped back, grasping his hand and pulled him with her. “Come on, let’s go find some dark corner or something so I can properly say hello.”

“In the middle of the day?” he said even as he laughed.

She turned back to him, her bright green eyes bright and intense. “I don’t want to wait until tonight. I need you now.” To prove it she stepped into him and dragged his head down, pouring everything she had into the kiss. She tugged on his lower lip as she dug her hands into his hair, disturbing his carefully combed hair. He gripped her hips tightly, his fingers likely leaving bruises on her skin. She pulled back just as his hands started to work at the ties to her jerkin. “Not here. I don’t want to be interrupted.”

They walked out of the chapel hand in hand, ignoring the quick glances they received from those strolling about the garden and the quiet smiles that followed. Apparently it was good for everyone to know that not everything was dark, that there was still light and love in the world. The knowledge that the Inquisitor and her Commander had found shelter in each other’s hearts was enough to put a smile on everyone’s face and warmed the soul.


	21. Day 21 - Fingertips

Bríghid lay on her stomach, utterly exhausted and yet she couldn’t sleep. Her brain kept spinning, thoughts running through her head. Her breath puffed out, her hair rippling across the bed. A single beam of fading sunlight shown through one of the windows, shining on her hair, picking out the darker strands. If she were to be fanciful they looked like they were lit by a fire from within. She stared at it, watching as the light played across her hair, attempting to use it as a method of distraction.

It wasn’t really working.

She brought up her hand, her fingers twirling a lock between her fingers. Her gaze shifted from her hair to her fingertips. Scars and calluses covered them. Tiny nicks and scars ran over her hands but none of them compared the long scar that ran along her palm. Rolling over onto her back she brought up her left hand and stared at the mark. The scar was mostly healed, well, healed over anyway. It wasn’t like any of her other scars. No, those had been from what could be termed as natural. This one, this mark, it was unnatural. It fucking glowed when she closed a rift. The pain was so bad sometimes that she nearly passed out but she forced it back every time until she got to a spot where she could handle it. It certainly wasn’t on the battlefield, it was actually easier there in a way with the adrenaline pumping through her veins. It was harder among social situations, like when they’d been at the Winter Palace.

She hadn’t wanted to go, not to the ball anyway. Part of her still didn’t understand why they just couldn’t have gone straight to Celene with what they had, why the big fuss and theatrics. It was unnecessary in her mind and not something that the Inquisition should have to involve themselves in.

Politics. She hated it. She wasn’t good at it. Wanted nothing to do with it but due to the nature of who she was, _what_ she was, she didn’t have much of a choice. So she dealt with it. Handled it the best way she knew how with the proper application of occasional violence and partaking in alcohol.

Not the best coping mechanism, to be sure, but it was the best thing she had at the moment. It wasn’t like she could find release by other means.

Unbidden a pair of whiskey-colored eyes came to mind. A half grin aimed at her from across the war table. A casual touch of fingers when he passed her papers. The intense stare he gave her when he watched her practicing on the training ground. The smell of his fur mantle wrapped around her when she woke up in the temporary encampment after the Haven attack. Waking up and having the hazy memory of him trailing his fingertips down her cheek, a soft pleading for her to wake up.

Him leaning in to kiss her only to be interrupted by a determined runner and then a surprised gasp when he pressed her against the battlements. The hitch of breath she got whenever she thought of those lips kissing her elsewhere. His smile when he had held out his hand and asked her to dance.

She wished he was here. She wished she was brave enough to take that next step. Wishing that she could have his arms around her right now, holding her close. As much as she wanted to, she didn’t have any right to go to him and ask for comfort and she wasn’t capable of the pretense necessary to go see him with some made up excuse.

Annoyed and frustrated she tossed the covers away and got out of bed. She opened the glass doors to the balcony, enjoying the blast of fresh air that washed over her and helped to clear her mind a little. The castle was quiet, only a few guards on patrol but despite the lateness of the hour there were lights burning in the Commander’s office. Just like every night. Did the man ever sleep?

Bríghid snorted. Like she could cast any stones in that department. She was lucky to get more than four hours at a time.

She started to turn away from the balcony but turned back, biting her lip. She could just take a walk. No pretense in that. And if she just happened to stop by his office, well, it was right in the middle of the battlements, it was hard to avoid.

Decision made, she grabbed her cloak.


	22. Day 22 - Lost

It was the soft pattering of rain on her face that woke her up. Bríghid cracked open an eye to find the world around her a blurry mess. Without moving she took a catalog of her body, checking for injuries. It would have been easier and quicker to determine which areas of her body didn’t hurt. It wouldn’t be inaccurate to say that her entire body felt like one gigantic bruise but it was her head that hurt the most. Something hot and sticky coated it and as the fog cleared from her brain she recognized the distinct coppery smell of blood.

The sound of baying hounds in the distance came to her ears. Bríghid sat up, swallowing the nausea that rose in her throat. She needed to get moving but looking around she found that she had no idea where she was. Nothing looked familiar. She was deep in some woods where the sunlight would barely cut through the canopy in the daytime. Dark shadows creeped around her and she could swear she could hear a whispering coming from them. The hounds bayed again, closer this time. Sweat slid down her spine at the sound and her belly quaked.

Bríghid slowly rose to her feet, fighting off another bout of nausea and started to move. Not knowing where she was forced her to pick a random direction, one that she hope was in the opposite direction from where the hounds and their masters were coming from. She didn’t know why the sound filled her with such dread and she didn’t want to stick around to find out. She hadn’t made it more than a couple of steps before blood seeped down the right side of her face and into her eye. Pain burst along her forehead and cheek as she tried to wipe the blood away and this time she could stop the nausea as whatever was left in her stomach hurled itself out to splatter the ground around her.

Her feet stumbled underneath her but she managed to stay upright, clutching a nearby tree for support even as she sagged against it. Bríghid took another look around, hoping to find something familiar only to be disappointed again. Despite the thick canopy above her rain still broke through, soaking her through her leathers, causing her teeth to start to chatter.

The hounds bayed again, even closer now. Was that the sound of men shouting? Bríghid started to run, breaking through the brush, ignoring the sharp sting of branches as they whipped around her. Panic had set in and she gave into her body’s instinct to flee.

Her head was pounding and her vision was blurry but she pushed through, forcing herself to run. To where she didn’t know. All she knew was that she had to get away. The forest around her took on a red hue, pulsing and angry. She tried to find another path, one away from that angry red but it soon surrounded her, suffocating her with it’s red light. Something clamped onto her ankle, sending her sprawling forward. Bríghid tried to kick it off but the claws dug in further, tearing through her boot and into her skin. A scream ripped through her throat as she fumbled for her dagger only to find it missing.

She kicked again and heard a sickening crunch of bone and cartilage snapping as her booted heel found the thing’s face. It roared in pain as it’s claws dug deeper. Her hand scrambled around her, searching for something that she could use to fight the creature when teeth sunk into her shoulder. Bríghid screamed again, the sound of it sending a spike of pain through her head but she couldn’t stop. This was it. This was how she was going to die, lost and alone and torn to pieces by monsters.

Through the screams and the pain she distantly heard her name being called. Instead of claws she felt a gentle hand on her brow, an insistent urging for her to come back. With a loud gasp, she rocketed forward, sweat soaking through the nightshirt she wore and the sheets she was tangled up in. Her hands were fisted into balls, her nails digging into her palms and threatening to draw blood. Gentle hands slowly uncurled them, thumbs massaging the tightness out of them. As her heart slowed down she managed to look up and found a pair of whiskey-colored eyes looking at her full of concern.

He brushed her sweat-sticky hair off her face and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Before he could pull away she flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around him tightly as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. She let loose a shaky sob and held him tighter as she felt his arms come around her, holding her close as he murmured words of comfort. Here was safety, here was warmth. Here she wasn’t lost.


	23. Day 23 - Wishes

“Do you ever think about the future,  _ ástin mín _ ?”

Bríghid looked up from the arrows she was fletching. Astrid sat across from her, half-heartedly poking a stick at the fire. Her friend’s straw-blonde hair fell down over her face, thick braids intermingling with the loose strands. She couldn’t see her face but she could hear the almost sad tone in Astrid’s voice.

“What do you mean?”

Astrid started to speak in common but switched to Avvar when she had trouble articulating her thoughts. Bríghid waited patiently while her friend sorted out what she wanted to say, catching only about half of it and none of it really made sense.

“Not much changes here in the hold. It’s the same thing from day to day.”

“Is this your way of telling me you’re bored? Cause you can head back and I’ll go hunting by myself.”

“No, it’s not that. I just can’t help but wonder what’s in store for me. I know that Gróa says that we should trust in the spirits but what if the spirits don’t say anything about you.”

Bríghid set down her supplies, giving her friend her full attention. “What’s going on Astrid? Did something happen?”

“No.” Astrid stood up, pacing across their small campsite. “Yes.”

“Well, which is it?”

“It’s just that I’ve been of age now for over a year; I’ve had my moonblood for even longer. By all that we believe I’m considered a woman by the clan but Gróa’s yet to see my fate in the flames. Everyone else’s she’s seen but not mine. Everyone my age has their marks, everyone except me.”

Bríghid wasn’t sure how to respond. She may have lived with the Light-foot clan for close to five years now but she wasn’t Avvar, she wasn’t raised as one and as such she couldn’t really understand the underlying nature of what it was to be Avvar. And yet, if she was to believe it, Gróa had seen her in the flames when she was just a child. That surely had to be weighing on Astrid’s mind. 

“Maybe,” she said slowly, hoping that she wasn’t going to offend her friend. While they tended to be more open than other Avvar, members of the Light-foot clan could still be quick to take offense if they felt they were being insulted. “Maybe it doesn’t always work that way. Maybe, sometimes, maybe you can’t wait for your fate to be given to you. Maybe you have to go out and find it.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Hell, Astrid. Maybe? I do know that sitting around and wishing for something to happen isn’t going to make it happen any sooner, so yeah, I guess I do think so.”

“I wish you were really my sister. Not just of my heart, but of my blood too,” Astrid said quietly, staring at her feet.

“That way I could come with you. You wouldn’t have to be alone when you go back to the lowlanders.” Astrid had jumped to her feet, a manic excitement filling her voice. Bríghid felt something clench in her chest. More than anything she wished that could be true but it was made clear to her that this was a journey she had to make alone.

“I wish you could come with me too but I think we both know that’s not possible.”

“No, really. I could help,” she said earnestly. “I’ve learned the lowlander language. I’m better with a sword and shield than you, I can watch your back.” Astrid grabbed her hands, gripping them tightly. “We are shieldmaidens, bound by an oath of friendship and blood. What kind of shieldmaiden would I be if I let you go into battle alone?”

“Astrid.” Bríghid sighed, bowing her head. She removed one of her hands from and placing it on Astrid’s face. “I wish for nothing more. I will miss your face when I’m gone.”

“Bríghid, please let me come,” Astrid sniffled, tears flooded her eyes, making Bríghid wish for a handkerchief. She always had trouble when the people she cared about cried. 

“You’ll be fine,  _ ástin mín _ . You’re stronger than you think and you will find your path.”

Astrid flung her arms around Bríghid, hugging her tightly as if she was afraid that her friend would disappear right before her eyes. All Bríghid could do was hold on to her young friend even as her own heart bled. She didn’t want to leave but she knew that she had to.


	24. Day 14 - Breakable

Bríghid entered her quarters, shutting the door behind her and leaning back against it. Was there ever going to be a day when she didn’t feel tired? Her eyes felt like they were filled with sand and her bones made of glass. How long was it since she’d last slept? She knew she’d seen at least two sunrises without closing her eyes, that was for certain. She felt like if she were to take one wrong step that she would shatter.

Sighing, she pushed away from the door and contemplated going up the stairs. It was only twelve steps but right now it looked as tall as a mountain. One that she didn’t know if she could conquer. When her head bounced against the door she realized that her eyes had closed and there was a slight bit of drool pooling at the corner of her mouth. Swearing, she pushed herself away from the door and made the long climb up the stairs.

It was only through long ingrained habit that she removed her boots before falling face forward into her bed. She pulled the thick blanket to her and wrapped her arms around it, more wanting something to hold onto than wanting warmth, even if it was a poor substitute for what she really wanted to hold onto. 

Finally horizontal she allowed herself to relax muscle by muscle. She knew that she should get undressed but her eyes slid shut before she could follow through on that thought.

A soft chuckle woke her some time later. Bríghid cracked open an eye to see Cullen sitting next to her, a smile lifting the corner of his mouth.

“And they say that I’m the workhorse. Honestly Bríghid, do I need to get Josephine to hire you a personal attendant or something so you don’t fall asleep in your clothes? Because she’ll do it.”

“Cullen?”

“Were you expecting someone else?”

“You weren’t due to be back until Friday.”

“I hate to break it to you darling, but it is Friday,” he said, brushing an errant lock of hair off her face. He looked tired, like he’d been riding hard.

“It’s barely Friday. What did you do? Ride all night?”

He shrugged as he leaned back and Bríghid realized that he was wearing only a simple shirt and breeches. She looked over to the corner and saw his armor neatly stacked and that a couple of the candles she hadn’t been bothered to light when she came in were glowing softly. 

Rubbing her eyes she sat up. Her bones still felt like glass and she vaguely wondered how long she’d slept. Not long she guessed. Cullen cupped her cheek with his hand, brushing her tangled hair out of her face with the other. He leaned down and kissed her lightly before pulling back. Bríghid smiled at him, taking in his face. Oh how she missed it.

“I have something for you,” he said, stepping away from the bed to his pack that was sitting on her couch. He’d been spending more and more nights with her here, wanting to savor what little  time they had while she was in Skyhold. It was funny. Normally she was the one going all over southern Thedas but this time it had been him who had left while she stayed. That part of it was due to the fact that she’d caught a damn cold from tramping all over the Fallow Mire was irrelevant in her mind. It was just odd to be the one staying behind.

“Is this a get well present? Because I got better about a day after you left. Not that anyone would listen to me,” she half-grumbled. She hated being sick. She hated being fussed over even more. Whenever she got the slightest scratch many people here totally overreacted. Sure she was the only one who could seal the rifts but that was beside the point. She wasn’t going to break. She couldn’t afford to.

“The fact that you fell asleep in your clothes tells me that you’re not completely back to yourself,” he said, returning back to the bed, a small parcel in his hands. “In fact, you look almost more exhausted than when I left a week ago. Have you been sleeping?”

“Like you’re one to talk,” she said, full grumble this time.

“Bríghid,” he sighed.

“I just don’t sleep as well when you’re not here. That’s all.”

Cullen raised an eyebrow at that. “And what about when you’re out in the field? How are you sleeping then?”

“That’s different,” she said softly, staring at her hands in her lap. Maker, this was embarrassing. She had never meant for him to know that.

“Different how?” he asked. When she didn’t answer, he gently tilted her head up so that he could see her eyes. “How is it different?”

“Because it’s different, alright. I know you’re here, that you’re safe. I can picture you here and I can relax. When I’m here and you’re not… it’s different.”

“And now you know how I feel every time I watch you leave through the gates.” He bent his head down, touching his forehead to hers. A shaky breath escaped him as his hand curved around her head to rest on the back of her neck. Bríghid leaned against him, inhaling his scent. Despite having ridden all night, he didn’t smell all that bad, not like one would think. Though a bath couldn’t hurt.

“I missed you.”

“And I you. Here,” he said, pulling back and putting the small parcel in her hands. “This is for you.”

“What is it?”

“Why don’t you open it and find out.” If she wasn’t mistaken there was a slight thread of nervousness running through his voice. He’d given her gifts before, the coin in particular came to mind, why would he be nervous about this one?

She carefully undid the twine holding the parcel closed. Pulling back the wrappings she saw a small box sitting in the middle of it and her breath caught in her throat a little. It was too big to be a ring box and he was too much of a romantic to propose to her when she was half asleep. Slowly she opened the wooden box. Inside, nestled in soft velvet was a glass horse. With ginger hands she took it out, marvelling at how the artist had twisted the glass to make it seem like the horse was running. Red streaks threaded along its body and mane, making it look like it was on fire. Turning it over she realized she recognized the markings. These were Avvar markings. 

“Is this? How?”

“You described Vidar often enough that I feel like I knew him myself. Do you like it?”

“Do I like it? Cullen, this is the most precious thing anyone has given me.” She placed the glass horse back in the box, safe in it’s velvet cocoon before setting it to the side. Taking his face in both her hands she kissed him, letting her lips linger on his. Tears fell from her eyes as she pulled back but she was smiling.

“This wasn’t suppose to make you cry.”

“Oh Cullen, you stupid man. These are happy tears. Thank you for this. It means the world to me.”

Cullen let out a relieved sigh. “Thank the Maker. Frey said that you needed a token and I was disinclined to argue with him.”

“Frey said what?”

His hand went to his neck, rubbing it like he did when they were in the first stages of their relationship. “He told me in no uncertain terms that if I was going to be courting his sister that I needed to give you a token.”

Her brows creased, her hand unconsciously reaching for the necklace from which the coin he’d given her was hanging. “But you already gave me a token. I didn’t need another.”

“As I said, I was disinclined to argue and he said that it was tradition to give two, something of my own and something that represents you. Besides, I wanted to. And once I saw that glass horse, I knew it was to be yours.”

“That’s very sweet but he was yanking your chain. Avvar courting tradition involves raiding another clan to steal a bride and however many goats they can make off with.”

“You’re joking.” A pause. “You’re not joking.”

“No, I’m quite serious. Though there are usually some negotiations done ahead of time to avoid a blood feud.”

“Don’t the women get a say in this?”

“Oh definitely. I’ve heard of some who make their choice well known and even assist in their own kidnapping but I don’t think you want another lecture on Avvar culture right now, do you?”

“Not especially, no. I’d rather crawl into this ridiculous bed with you and sleep past dawn.” He eyed her. “Which requires you to get undressed. I’m sure you’d sleep much better without this on.”

She yawned again. “You’re probably right.” She set the box with the glass horse on the bedside table, running a gentle finger over its smooth surface. She would treasure this always but not as much as the man in front of her. “I might need some assistance though.”

“I am at your service, my lady.”

She swatted his arm but couldn’t help but grin. Maker but she was glad that he was home. 


	25. Day 25 - Friend

“My dear Inquisitor, I simply cannot let you do this.”

Bríghid looked up from the reports she was reading, a frown marring her face. She honestly didn’t know how Josephine thought she would be able to make sense of all these. Or that she would want to. If she had to read one more letter from some sycophantic Orlesian noble she was going to break something.

“Do what?”

“Coop yourself up in this stuffy room. You, my dear, are hiding.” Vivienne sauntered across the room, running a slim finger along the edge of the desk as if she was checking it for dust.

“Hiding? If I was going to hide do you really think it would be in here?”

“Actually? Yes.” At Bríghid’s surprised look, Vivienne laughed. “Oh come, darling, everyone knows how much you hate paperwork and dealing with correspondence. This is the last place people would think to look for you.”

“You did.”

Vivienne laughed again. “Oh, but I’m not most people.”

“You are indeed a unique individual, Madame de Fer.”

“Indeed. Now come, I have a much better way for you to distract yourself.”

Bríghid looked at her warily. “And just what is this distraction going to cost me?”

“Nothing at all my dear. Consider it my treat.”

“Vivienne, it’s not like you to be cagey. Not like this anyway.”

“Darling, what kind of friend would I be if I let you attend the Empresses ball in those ghastly uniforms our dear Josephine ordered made. I’ve arranged to have my personal seamstress attend to you.”

She couldn’t help it but she gaped at the mage. Sure Vivienne had been friendly with her and had trusted her with Bastien but she would have never suspected that she would share her seamstress.

“Thank you, Vivienne, but I can’t exactly hie off to Val Royeaux for a dress fitting.”

Vivienne’s laugh pealed throughout the room. “Oh my dear, we don’t need to do anything so drastic. No, Claudette is coming here. In fact, she is downstairs this very minute, eager to meet you. You wouldn’t believe the things that woman can do with a thread and needle.”

“Well, if she’s in your employ I would imagine she’s one of the best.”

“Oh yes. She’ll make you the most divine gown. One that I’m sure will have the Commander’s full attention on you.”

“Maker’s balls, does everyone know?” Blood rushed to her cheeks. So much for them being discrete.

“To anyone who knows how to pay attention, yes. Come, we mustn’t keep Claudette waiting.”

“Oh dear, no, we wouldn’t want that.”


	26. Day 26 - Realization

“You are both horrible people. I hope you know that.”

“Why Inquisitor, you’re just realizing this now?”

“You’re the worst one Dorian. Why did you let me drink so much?” Bríghid cradled her head in her hands, keeping her eyes closed lest the sun burn through them and into her brain. She had woken up in her bed with no clear memory of how she’d gotten there and was now resting against the headboard wishing that she had thicker curtains covering her windows. The last time she’d had a hangover this bad was just after they had fought that dragon in the Hinterlands. She’d die happy if she never tasted another drop of Maraas-Lok ever again. Ever.

“If memory serves me right, it was you who initiated last night’s bacchanalia. You were in rare form, even for you. Here, drink this.”

The glorious scent of coffee reached her nose. She blindly took the mug from him, keeping her eyes shut as she took a large gulp. The only problem was that it wasn’t coffee in the mug. It was vile, like the sludge that one found in a muck bucket. She would have spit it out but Dorian reached over and pinched her nose shut, forcing her to swallow. He let go once she finished hacking it down. She glared at him through the pounding in her head and shoved the mug back at him.

“You are very, _very_ lucky I’m not a mage, Dorian, because I would so very much like to light you on fire right now.”

“Oh come now, you’ll thank me for it later.”

“It was a dirty nasty trick. You lured me in with coffee and then poured that vile potion down my throat.”

“Well, we can’t have you looking like you’re three days dead. You can’t let them see that they hurt you.”

And suddenly Bríghid remembered the reason for why she had tried to drink all of the wine she had stored in the cellar. Right. Her parents. They had arrived late yesterday afternoon, just after she herself had returned to Skyhold after having been in the field for two weeks. She’d almost literally run into them as she was exiting the stables, covered in mud, blood, and Maker knew what else, it wasn’t worth thinking too much about. It was a toss up as to which of them was more surprised but before any of them could say anything Gideon had come around the corner. Upon seeing her, he had rushed forward, hugging her to him despite her unkempt state. If it hadn’t been for him she would have walked out of the stable yard without saying a word to her parents.

“Your mage friend is right, midget. I know it’s not easy, I tried to talk them out of coming here, but they were determined.”

“Let me guess, you’re the buffer.”

“Well, what better role is there for a middle child.”

Bríghid groaned and rested her head back on the headboard. She had let them get to her and she shouldn’t have. She had thought that she had hardened herself against their treatment of her but all it took was one of her mother’s looks, the one where she looked down her nose at her, as if she was wondering what kind of bug had crossed her path. Once Gideon had finally set her down it had taken every bit of self-control she had to not turn her back on them. Instead she had welcomed them to Skyhold and directed them to Josephine for accommodations. Bríghid was certain that the ambassador had no idea that the Trevelyans were coming because Josephine would have found a way to warn her. It was typical behavior on her parents’ behalf. They’d done it before.

“I must say, midget, I am quite impressed by the amount of alcohol you imbibed last night. Where on Thedas did you learn to drink like that?”

“From you, you idiot. We stole more than one bottle from Father’s cellar.”

“You two are simply adorable. I do love the pet names you have for each other, almost makes me wish that I had siblings.” He handed her the mug again. “Drink the rest. You’ll thank me.”

Bríghid took the mug from him and downed the rest of its contents, trying not to taste it as it slid down her throat. Coughing, she set it to the side and glared at Dorian. The man was entirely way to chipper for having helped her drink halfway through the wine cellar.

“How is it that you’re seemingly no worse for wear this morning?”

“Because I already took my medicine like a good little boy. And the wine we drank last night is basically mother’s milk to me. That and I do believe you had a glass or two of Antivan brandy,” he tutted, shaking his head. “A woman of your years should know better than to mix your alcohols like that.”

“I had good reason,” she grumbled.

“Well, I can’t fault you on that. I did the same after that little interlude with my father.” He clapped his hands together, the sound echoed throughout the room, making her wince. “Come now, let’s get you washed and dressed. Your adoring public awaits.”

“I don’t need one of my best friends and my brother helping me to bathe.”

“Oh really? Then perhaps I should get the Commander up here. I’m sure he’d be more than delighted, if not a bit embarrassed to assist you. Though he’d probably combust first. I’d definitely want to stick around for that.”

“Oh, fuck you Dorian.”

“Such language. My poor virgin ears.”

“Virgin ears my ass,” she muttered before sitting up. “Fine. Make yourself useful and get me a bath, but I can do the bathing part by myself.”

Dorian sighed. “Oh fine. That’s going to be one disappointed Commander though. Come, Gideon, let’s go hunt down some burly servants so our dear Inquisitor can have her bath.”

“Who is this Commander I keep hearing about?” Gideon peered down at Bríghid. “Does my sister have a crush?”

“Oh my dear man, you have no idea. Have I got some stories to tell you.”

“Maker’s balls, if you two don’t leave right now I will stab you both and I would be completely justified. No jury would find me guilty.”

Dorian swept into a dramatic bow before her. “As my lady Inquisitor commands,” he said before making for the stairs. Gideon lingered for a moment, looking at her thoughtfully.

“I hope that this commander of yours is worthy of you. I wouldn’t want anyone less for my baby sister.”

Bríghid stared up at him through bleary eyes. Her head was pounding less and starting to clear a bit but she still recognized the affectionate yet protective tone in her brother’s voice.

“It’s complicated.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Either you love him or you don’t and my money’s on that you do” he said, kissing her forehead before following Dorian down the stairs. Bríghid stared at the retreating form of her brother before collapsing back onto the bed.

Was it really complicated? She just wasn’t sure. She hadn’t sought these feelings out for Cullen. They just sort of happened despite her efforts to resist them. Bríghid pressed the palms of her hands to her eyes and groaned. She would have to deal with this. But not today. No, today she would have to face her parents and whatever it was they wanted. And if the thought of having a certain commander at her side, lending her his support during the confrontation warmed her, well, she found that she was fine with that.


	27. Day 27 - Cage

Bríghid stood on the third level of the tavern, looking down at the scene below. Her companions were crowded around one of the tables, celebrating their latest victory. If they knew she was up here they would insist that she join and just now she didn’t feel all that sociable. The last meeting in the War Room hadn’t gone all that well. None of them could agree on the next steps. She and Cullen in particular had butted heads and both had left angry and annoyed. It wasn’t often that they argued like that but when they did it wasn’t pretty. It hadn’t helped matters that both of them were sleep deprived and he’d come into the meeting in a foul mood to begin with.

Things had been going so well which made it hurt all the more when things went wrong.

“The song is a cage. It tricks and traps, sickly sweet. But he fights the chains.”

Bríghid jumped at the sound of Cole’s voice. While she was adept at not being seen Cole operated on a whole other level than her. He could disappear with a whisper, forgotten by the people he interacted with, leaving them puzzled as to the change but not sure why. That happened less now with him becoming more human, or human-like. She was still a little uneasy with how she’d been put in the middle of that decision and was still somewhat bitter toward both Varric and Solas for that, but Cole seemed to be doing okay. At least she hoped so.

“Worry and watching and waiting. An easy hand to help pass the storm.”

“Cole, we’ve talked about this. It’s not polite to listen in on others.” She looked around, trying to find him, finally spotting him sitting on one of the rafters. His legs dangled over the edge as he tapped a finger rhythmically against the wood to a beat that only he could hear.

“I try not to, it’s just that some are louder than others. It’s hard to keep them out.” He ducked his head. “Especially when they hurt.”

“I know,” she said, “and I appreciate that you try.” She thought back on his words, unable to not think about what he was referencing to now that he had said it. “Cole, what did you mean, about the song being a cage?”

“Blue and red, they both sing, both trap, though red is stronger, angrier, darker.”

“You mean lyrium,” she paused, thinking through the rest of what he said. “You mean Cullen.”

“He still hears it, still hears the call.” There was a slight whoosh, so quiet that she almost didn’t hear it, and then Cole was standing next to her, almost preternaturally still. “It hurts but he endures. You help. You make the song hurt less.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” she muttered. Laughter rose up from below. She watched as Bull raised his tankard to the rest, making some boast or another before chugging all of its contents. Roars of approval surrounded him when he slammed the empty tankard down before standing up and taking a deep bow. 

“The heart hurts from words, angry and said in haste. Perhaps more words are to be said?”

Bríghid opened her mouth to respond but Cole was already gone. Sighing, she took one last glance at her friends and decided that she couldn’t in good conscience subject them to her foul mood. Turning away she wrapped her cloak around her and exited the tavern. The night wind bit at her face, sharp needles of rain falling from the sky. So much for a walk around the battlements.

She wrapped her cloak around her tighter, pulling the hood down over her face. The music from the tavern faded as she walked away and with it whatever cheerfulness she had in her heart. Looking down the ramparts light shown through the windows of Cullen’s tower office, the light painting pale rectangles on the stone around the building. She thought she saw a shadow pass in front of one of the windows and had the urge to go to him but she turned away. No, it was best that they have a cooling off period before they spoke again.

Bríghid turned, walking away and climbing to the top of one of the parapets. She was just rounding a corner when she ran into a solid object, one whose hands rose up to steady her when she nearly fell back. Thick fur brushed against her hands, bringing with it a familiar scent.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she said, stepping out of his arms. She eyed him warily, not wanting another argument but would be willing to oblige if he brought one. Never let it be said that Bríghid Trevelyan backed down from a challenge.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

“Why? Aching for another fight?”

Cullen gave her a pained look. “I do not want to fight with you Bríghid. It’s the last thing I want.”

“Funny, you had a different opinion a couple of hours ago. You made your positions quite clear if I remember correctly.”

“Harsh words were said on both sides but it is I who must apologize. I came to the War Room in a foul mood and-.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Please, let me finish. I shouldn’t have take it out on all of you, on you especially. I promised that I would not let this, affliction, affect my performance as commander and I broke that promise. It does not excuse my actions, not in the least, but I am sorry.” He reached down and took up one of her hands, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Please, forgive me. I was an ass.”

“Yes, you were,” she told him, taking no pleasure in the saddened look on his face. “But so was I. We both have our pains and hurts and let them get them better of us from time to time. It just proves that we’re human.”

Cullen bent his head and let out an unsteady breath. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. You steady me like no other person has.”

Bríghid let out a quiet laugh and smiled. “Funny but you’re the second person to say that to me tonight.”

“Well, whoever it was, they were right.” He cupped her cheek, gazing at her intently. The wind picked up, gusting around them and sent a shiver through her but Cullen’s embrace kept her warm. She reached for his hand, pulling him toward the stairs.

“Come, let’s get somewhere warm and we can discuss each other’s apologies. In detail.” A wicked grin spread across her face. He caught on quickly as he returned it and gripped her hand back. 

“My office is closer.”

 


	28. Day 28 - Power

“Why a lion?”

“Hmmm?” Cullen was playing with her fingers, turning them between his. She was lying between his arms, head resting against his chest. Light from the fireplace washed over the walls, giving the room a warm glow. He still hadn’t gotten the hole in his roof fixed but between the fire and him she was plenty warm.

“Your helm, it’s in the shape of a lion. Your mantel looks like a lion’s mane. So, why a lion? Aren’t Fereldans supposed to be dog people?”

Cullen snorted, wrapping his arms around her before nuzzling her neck, his teeth lightly nipping the skin there. A shiver ran through her at his touch, making her squirm in his arms.

“Oh, I like dogs, have always wanted one in fact but the life I chose doesn’t really allow room for a dog.”

“That doesn’t explain why your helm looks like a lion’s head.”

“No, I suppose it doesn’t,” he chuckled. “When I was at the circle in Ferelden I had access to so many books, more books than I had ever seen in my life. The library at Kinloch Hold had all sorts of books. I found one that described all sorts of animals from everywhere across Thedas, including lions. I found them fascinating, read everything I could about them. Such powerful creatures. Did you know that the lion isn’t native to Orlais?”

“No, but I’m sure you’re about to tell me all about it,” she said, letting out a little squeal when he pinched her playfully.

“They’re actually from eastern Thedas, Antiva actually. A young Orlesian captain who fought in the Fourth Blight distinguished himself during the war, branded a hero by the Antivan king. The young captain eventually married one of the king’s daughters and was raised to up nobility. He used the lion on his heraldry. No one’s sure why, that bit was lost to history. To make a long story short, Orlais eventually took the lion as it’s own, as it does many things.”

“Nice story, but it still doesn’t explain why your helm looks like a lion.”

“Hush you, I’m getting to that part. That book I found at Kinloch, it told that story but it also spoke about lions themselves, how they’re among the greatest of hunters, possessing great strength and power and are masters of strategy and skill. Early on in my career as a templar one of my instructors noted that I had a gift for strategy. One of my fellow templars who thought he was very clever and knew of my, ah, infatuation, and said that I should be called Captain Lion instead of Captain Cullen. It didn’t help that I have a rather unruly cap of hair when I don’t tame it back.”

Bríghid turned in his arms, straddling his hips. She reached up and ran her fingers through his hair. “Were you teased much for your curls? I find them quite dashing.”

“Not as much as one might think but enough to where I guess I felt it necessary to try to keep them under control.” He slid his hands up her bare thighs, his thumbs caressing her skin. “Anyway, when I left the Order, the flaming sword no longer felt appropriate. Cassandra made some offhand comment about me needing new armor if I didn’t want to be associated with that life anymore. We were in Amaranthine, looking for recruits for the Inquisition. There was a blacksmith there of some skill who was willing to make new armor for me. When he asked for a design I told him that I didn’t care. The poor man looked so scandalized that I thought he was going to faint. I’m not sure why the image of the lion popped into my head, I hadn’t thought about it in years, but I think that it did because I wanted, or needed an image of strength. So I told him to make it a lion, and well, here we are.”

“Yes, here we are,” she smiled, leaning forward to kiss him. “It suits you, you know. The lion. When I first saw you, you wore that helm. Scared the shit out of me. You left quite an impression.”

He raised a hand, brushing his thumb over her lower lip. “I’m sorry that I scared you.”

“It was a confusing time and there’s nothing to forgive. It was very effective though, I must say.” She smiled. “Since then you’ve made quite a different impression, one not nearly as scary as the first one.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes. You’re not nearly as scary as I first thought. Still grumpy from time to time but sweet, kind, caring, and occasionally a little nerdy.”

“Nerdy?” he asked, a bit incredulous.

“You, sir, just admitted to me that you read everything you could on lions. I think that’s the very definition of nerdy.” She leaned forward again, pressing her lips against his. Pulling back, her voice took on a husky tone. “Tell me, did you study human anatomy just as much?”

It took him a moment to get her implication. “Ah, not so much from books. It was more of a practical learning experience.”

Bríghid raised an eyebrow. “Do you think you could share some of those lessons? I would like to learn.”

Cullen made a strangled noise in his throat that sounded somewhat like a growl and before she knew it she found herself flat on her back. He hovered over her, balancing himself on his arms.

“It might take awhile. It’s a process.”

“I think you’ll find Commander that I am a  _ most _ willing and apt pupil.”

  
  
  



	29. Day 29 - Invitation

“Ah, Curly, I think there’s something you need to see.”

“Can it wait? I have things that I need to attend to before the Divine arrives.”

“It’s about your wife.”

Cullen dropped the papers he’d been and turned toward the dwarf. A sick ball of dread filled his stomach. Ever since they had returned from the Winter Palace things had been different, how could they not be? The Inquisition was disbanded, a once powerful organization now spread to the winds. A former ally, once trusted, was now possibly the most dangerous being in all of Thedas, if not the world. Only a few knew of the threat that Solas posed but those who did would fight him and stop him. With fewer numbers they were more secure but didn’t have the resources they once had. But there were a loyal few who were valuable connections. Like the current Viscount of Kirkwall for instance. 

It had been nearly six months since the events at the Winter Palace and though he had sent letters to their new headquarters, this was the first time Varric had visited. He’d been here only a few days, long enough for Cullen to remember how annoying he had found the dwarf on occasion. And yet the man was also one of the most loyal people he knew.

“Bríghid? What about her?”

“I just saw her on the training grounds.”

Cullen frowned. That wasn’t such an unusual thing. Bríghid could often be found out there, honing her skills. “That would make sense as she’s training.”

Varric opened his mouth to speak but paused. It was one of the few times that Cullen had seen the man have trouble finding words. “You should come.”

That small ball of dread in his stomach started to grow as he followed Varric out of the Chantry basement. Haven’s chantry was one of the few buildings to have survived Corypheus’s attack mostly intact. Even with their small numbers the space was cramped but they made due. He’d restored Bríghid’s old cottage with Rylen’s help while Bríghid squirrelled herself away in the Chantry with Cassandra. The look on her face when he showed it to her was worth the long days and sore muscles. She’s told him once that the cottage was the one place in Haven where she could find peace and to be able to give her some semblance of that peace again after everything, well, it was a miracle. She’d smiled that day, a real smile, one he hadn’t seen it a long time.

The sun was bright overhead as he exited the Chantry. It was a rare sunny day in the Frostbacks with barely any clouds in the sky. He saw her as he crossed through the ruined gates. Her hair was loose, flowing around her as she sat in the middle of the training grounds. It had taken time, lots of time, but she was finding her balance again. He’d offered to train with her but both had quickly learned that it was not an activity that husband and wife could share. Rylen had taken over instead and then Frey when he had shown up. Both were now standing at the edge of the training grounds, along with Cassandra, all with solemn looks on their faces. Cullen pushed past him and got a closer look at his wife, saw Bríghid kneeling in the middle of the training ground, a dagger lying at her side while she looked down at her hand and the space where her other hand used to be. Vidarson stood at her side, waiting patiently for his mistress to recover.

“Commander! We weren’t sure what to-.”

“How long has she been like this?” Cullen interrupted Rylen. The younger captain glanced toward the others, clearly unsure of how to proceed. Cassandra merely frowned, Frey clasped her shoulder, giving her a reassuring nod.

“A while now. She fell doing a flip-over off of Vidarson and hasn’t moved since. I tried to help her up and she damn near bit my head off. Thought it was better to let her sit for a while,” Frey paused. “That was nearly a half hour ago.”

“And none of you have done anything since.”

“Hey, I came to get you didn’t I? Besides, going down there without an invitation seemed like a good way to lose one’s head and I’m rather fond of mine.”

Cullen sighed. After the Winter Palace Bríghid had been single-minded in her goal to stop Solas from destroying the world and part of that was learning how to fight again. She often overworked herself to the point of exhaustion. They’d had more than one argument about it, one that she always seemed to win. He’d given her space, maybe too much space.

He stepped forward, waving off the the protests of the others. Vidarson raised his head and stared at Cullen, not moving as he approached. As he neared he could hear Bríghid breathing heavily, not quite crying but she could be, if pushed the wrong way.

“Brighid? It’s starting to get dark out. You should come inside. Get some food.”

Bríghid didn’t say anything, instead she stared down at her lap, at the hand that was there and the one that wasn’t. As glad as he was that the mark was gone, Cullen desperately wished that it hadn’t come at such a price.

“Bríghid, sweetheart.”

“Am I a good person, Cullen?”

The question took him aback. How could she think such a thing?

“Of course you are, why-?”

“I did so many things, so many nasty things for the Inquisition. And for what? To bring down one monster only to find the master behind the puppet? And now? Now I can’t even fight.”

“What nonsense is this? Of course you can fight.”

“Not like I used to.”

“No, but that’s not important.”

Bríghid finally looked up at him, tears that she had held back starting to fall. “I’ve done that flip-over a thousand, a million times. Now I have trouble just holding a dagger some days. How is that not important?”

“It’ll take time. Look at all the progress you’ve already made. Only someone as stubborn as you could make the gains you have.” He reached out and touched her now, gently, on the shoulder. “We’ll get through this, both of us.”

She tilted her head so that her cheek rested on his hand. Cullen leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her brow, his lips warm against her cool skin. When he pulled back he saw that she was calmer now, that familiar resolve returned.

“So, dinner?”

“No,” she said as Vidarson came closer and nuzzled her cheek. “Not yet. One more try and then dinner.”


	30. Day 30 - Secret

“What’s this?”

Bríghid was lying on her stomach utterly exhausted by the man trailing his fingers across her lower back and hip. His touch was feather light, just teasing enough to spark that curl of desire again which shouldn’t be possible. After that first frantic and rushed lovemaking on his desk (and hadn’t that been a surprise), they had retired to his loft for a slower and more drawn out bout. It had been dark when they had stumbled into bed but now Cullen had lit a few candles about the room; he’d even stoked the fire knowing how much she hated being cold. It was funny how well he knew her so well in so many ways.

At his question she looked over her shoulder to see the journey-mark she’d received a year ago. It was similar in a way to what the Avvar called a legend-mark but different in that it’s intent was to protect the wearer instead of telling the story of their deeds. Bríghid hadn’t known what exactly the journey-mark was meant to protect against, Gróa had been thin on the details but she was pretty sure that she knew now. It had been pretty obvious ever since she’d stepped out of the Fade in Haven.

“A memento from my time with the Avvar. It’s called a journey-mark.”

“What does it mean?” he asked, his fingers tracing the swirls and loops of the tattoo. She looked up at him and saw the faint wonder and fascination.

“It’s meant to protect the wearer on their journeys. I got it not long before I left.”

“Why did you leave? From what you’ve told me you were very happy with them.”

Bríghid hesitated. How on Thedas was she supposed to explain to him that an Avvar shaman had stared into the flames, spoke with the spirits, and told her that she must go? She knew that Cullen was still wary over what could be seen as uncontrolled magic but he hadn’t lived with them. The Avvar viewed magic so differently, they respected it but didn’t live in fear of it.

“I was, but the time comes in all things where we must move on. I didn’t want to leave, nearly begged Baldr to let me stay but one doesn’t cross Gróa lightly, so I left as I was bid.”

“This Gróa sounds like a formidable woman.”

“Imagine Leliana’s craftiness mixed with Cassandra’s will and a dash of Vivienne’s power and you’d have an approximate idea of her.”

“So this mark was to protect you then?”

“Yes,” she huffed, “for all the good it did me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I went home to Ostwick and was shunted straight to the Chantry with barely three words from my parents. I had created quite the scandal when I ran away and created an even bigger one by coming home, or potential one. They couldn’t let the family secret out, couldn’t let the nobles of Ostwick know that the wayward daughter had returned home. I was tainted in their eyes. I embarrassed them by running away from a betrothal I didn’t want. I distinctly remember my mother telling me that I should have stayed gone as it was the only decent thing to do,” she snorted. “One would think that I had utterly ruined the family by not following the plan they had laid out for me.”

Cullen’s fingers stilled at her words. “You were betrothed?”

“Yes. I left before they could draw up the papers but it was all but a done deal.”

The silence that followed lasted long enough for her to be worried. Bríghid shifted over onto her side to better look at him. His hand still rested on her hip but he wore one of his more pensive expressions on his face. He wouldn’t look at her, instead keeping his gaze on her journey-mark.

“Cullen?”

“You’re not… still betrothed, are you?”

“I’m pretty sure that contract was burned the second I left the city limits. Though I do consider myself lucky not to have a Crow hunting me. Those Antivans can be really touchy where their honor is concerned. I guess it’s a good thing we have a Crow, well former Crow, on our side.” When he didn’t laugh and only frowned deeper Bríghid sat up. “What’s wrong? You’re starting to scare me.”

“It never occurred to me what your life was like before you came to the Inquisition. Or what caused you to flee your own family. I can’t understand how parents could just turn out their child like that.”

“Believe me, I’ve asked that same question of myself a million times but I don’t let it hurt me anymore.” At his sharp look, she shrugged. “Okay, I try not to let it hurt me. I still have moments but they pass.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry here for, Cullen. What’s done is done. That life, I left it for a reason, going back was only a temporary thing, even if it was painful. I can’t lie, the thought did cross my mind several times to run again when they sent me to the Chantry. I was halfway out the door at one point.”

“What stopped you? You more than proved that you were capable of taking care of yourself. There was nothing to bind you to the Chantry if you didn’t want to be.”

“I made a promise, one that included following the path set before me. Gróa said that I had to follow the sunburst across Thedas to where the burnt one’s ashes once lay. It wasn’t difficult to parse out what she meant once I learned that the Divine intended to go to Haven.”

“Did Gróa ever tell you why she set you on that path?”

“No, not really, just that it was the path that I had to walk. What I did once I got there was up to me.” She stared down at her hand, ignoring the itch the mark was making. “I guess we all know what happened next.”

“I suppose we do,” he said, his face still pensive. “What would you have done, when you had returned to Ostwick, if your parents had demanded that you marry that Antivan?”

“I would have run again. Found my own way. I get to chose who to be with. Nobody gets to make that choice for me.”

A small smile lifted his lips. “So I guess that means-.”

“Yes, you stupid man. I chose you. Whatever else Gróa saw in the flames, I chose you.”


	31. Day 31 - Final

“None of you are to bother the Inquisitor with this. This had better not happen again. Have I made myself clear?”

Bríghid stopped just outside the door to Cullen’s office. Someone had left it cracked open otherwise she wouldn’t have heard Cullen’s order. A chorus of agreements sounded off and there was the shuffle of feet after he dismissed them. She pulled herself to the side of the door as it opened and watched as a trio of soldiers exited his office. One of them caught her eye and flushed red, quickening her pace before Bríghid could stop her. Bríghid stood there for a minute, watching the line of people walk away, wondering just what in the hell was going on and why Cullen felt the need to keep it from her. She could hear Cullen moving around in the room beyond and decided that there was only one way for her to find out.

She slid through the door just as it was closing, shutting it softly before leaning against it. With her hands hidden behind her back she fiddled with the lock until it softly clicked, ensuring that they wouldn’t be interrupted by overeager soldiers turning in their reports. Cullen stood behind his desk, sorting through some reports. He held himself rigidly, frowning down at whatever he was reading. There was a line of worry creasing his brow and she wondered what had put it there.

“Cullen,” she said softly when he didn’t respond to her presence. What was in that report that had him so focused?

“Maker’s breath! Bríghid, where did you come from?”

“Originally from Ostwick, though I spent several years just south of here with an Avvar clan.”

“Very funny. Nevertheless, it’s good to see you. I was wondering if you’d stop by,” he said, coming around the desk to meet her. Bríghid stayed at the door as he approached, tilting her head up to accept his kiss. His hands came up to her face, thumbs lightly brushing over her cheekbones. He pressed into her, one hand sliding into her hair as the other slipped down to her waist and pulled her close. She pushed up on her toes to better reach him as her hands clutched at his sides, bunching his tunic in her fists. She’d had every intention of coming in here and asking what he was hiding from her but his mouth and hands were  _ very _ distracting.

Both of them were out of breath when he pulled back. Bríghid’s heart was pounding and she was close enough to him that she could feel his beating just as hard. The hand at her hip gripped almost hard enough to leave if not bruises then at least some impressions on her skin. She was about to say something when he swooped down and kissed her again, this time lifting her up and pinning her against the door, using his arms to support her as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Bríghid let out a small yelp of surprise inbetween kisses, still not used to this more forceful side of him. They’d tiptoed around each other for so long that she’d been halfway convinced that was how their physical relationship was going to be.

She’d seen him on the training grounds and on the battlefield. She should have known better.

Not that she was complaining. Not in the least.

She pulled back, gasping for air. Maker’s breath, what had gotten into him?

He nuzzled her cheek, his breath warm on her skin. “Welcome back. I missed you.”

“I missed you too. I have to be honest, I didn’t expect this kind of reception when I got back.”

“Is this okay? I didn’t hurt you did I?” 

“Not at all. I’ve gotten worse falling out of bed.”

Cullen raised his eyebrow to that. “Is that a common occurrence?”

“Only when the sheets conspire to trip me up and cause me to fall ass over tea kettle.”

He chuckled. “Well that’s certainly an image.”

“Tell that to my ass.”

Now he sighed, slowly letting her down as if it was the last thing in the world he wanted to do. “I would dearly love to but there are some things I need to attend to first.”

“Like keeping something away from me and ordering your soldiers to not tell me?” At his sheepish look she continued. “If you don’t want people to overhear you should make sure that the door is closed.”

“What did you hear?”

“Why don’t you tell me?”

“I… um…”

“I… um… come on Cullen, use your words. What’s going on and why is no one to say anything to me? You know that I don’t like secrets.”

“It’s nothing to worry yourself about, I swear.” 

“If it’s nothing to worry about then it shouldn’t matter if you tell me.”

Cullen sighed, stepping away from her and walking to his desk. He picked up a parchment and handed it to her. Her brow furrowed as she took it from him. Her frown grew as she read through it.

“Is this a joke?”

“Believe me Bríghid, I would not joke about this.”

“I thought that I had made it clear that the Light-foot clan was to be left alone, that they are allowed operate freely.”

“You did, as did I. Apparently some of the newer recruits didn’t get that message, something I have since rectified.”

Bríghid looked up from the report, narrowing her eyes. “Well that’s all well and fine but why did you instruct them not to bother me with this?”

“Because your adopted brother Frey already put the fear of the Maker and of the Avvar gods into them. Challenged them to something called a  _ hólmganga  _ which I can only assume is some form of a duel as he then cracked a shield over one of their heads.”

“If they insulted him they deserved no less. I take it they stood down after that?”

“Two out of the three did. The third actually stood her ground and lasted longer in the circle than I think even Frey expected.”

“He respects those who fight back when challenged. He’ll probably be drinking with her in the tavern later if I know him.”

“Not tonight. I have all of them on guard duty.”

Bríghid the parchment down. “Well, looks like you’ve got it all handled then.”

“Frey and I may not have gotten off to the best start but we’ve come to respect each other at the least.”

“That’s something at least. Cullen, I understand that you command the army, but please don’t put me more out of reach of the soldiers than I already am. I already feel like enough of a freak without our soldiers pissing their pants when I walk by.”

“You have more than enough on your plate than to deal with simple disciplinary actions. And you’re not a freak.”

“Says the man who doesn’t have a glowing hand.”

He stepped forward taking her face in both hands and stared at her fiercely. “You are not a freak and if I ever hear you say that again you’ll be the one under a disciplinary action.”

“Oh really? And what type of disciplinary action would one suggest for the leader of the Inquisition?” she asked slyly, not so secretly enjoying the fact that she’d turned the tables on him.

“I, uh, what?”

Bríghid choked back a laugh at the red flush that went up Cullen’s face. Maker, she loved it when he blushed and got all nervous. It made her feel like less of an idiot. Especially in the beginning.

“I, well, that’s something I’ll have to think on.” He coughed, his blush only growing. 

“Why don’t we head upstairs and we can brainstorm. You can tell me your ideas and I can give you some notes.” When he paused and flicked his eyes to the door she chuckled darkly. “The door’s already locked, I think we’ll be fine.”

“Well, if you put it that way,” he said, and before she really knew what was happening he had her over his shoulder and was climbing the ladder before she could so much as shout.

“Just so you know, if this is a form of disciplinary action I’m not that impressed.” Her breath rushed out of her as he dumped her on the bed and hovered over her, his whiskey-colored eyes staring at her intently.

“The night’s still young. We have plenty of time before we finalize a proper action.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think!


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